Brothers In Arms
by TheAlassinSane
Summary: This is the official backstory of Skyrim Romance Mod's main character, Bishop, and many of the side characters as well. It is the story of two brothers, and how a former bandit with the closest friends of a half-Khajiit and a wolf came to be the womanising, distrustful and bitter ranger he is today.
1. 1 - Vengeance is Swift

A teenage Nord circled a large field lit blue by the Cyrodiil moonlight. His entire body was tense as he swung his sword back and forth prepared for any sudden movements. To the west was a campfire with the caravan and the belongings of his family; among them sat his siblings and mother. The youngest, Galric, was five and the bastard of some flimsy Breton bard, he still clung to his mother's chest. The eldest was Kari, Bishop's younger sister from both parents, and she stayed stubbornly with her back to him, sitting primly in her dull worshipper's robe.

None of them looked directly at the teenager with anything but hatred or indifference. He didn't spare them a moment of attention. His main audience were the siblings who sat closer to the dueling ground. On rocks they sat and waited for the second combatant with varying levels of patience. They were Duful, Torban's seven year old Redguard who looked at Bishop with raw hatred and bloodlust; their mother's unfortunate ten year old Nord son Morgen who'd inherited the blue-tinted skin, hair and pointed ears of his Dumer father; Galric's older sister, Liesl, who kicked her feet against the rocks as she watched; and Jules, the only one who was unwaveringly supportive of Bishop. Liesl was the first to notice that the teenage combatant was not alone and swivelled her head around to the trees.

"So here we are." Came the smug croon of a gruff voice he'd despised all of his life. Its source was a Nord in his prime, physically and mentally. His hair was jet black and had the front tied back like the mane it was. He was almost identical to his son but his eyes were blue, his chin broad and his jaw strong and wide. "When you challenged me I kind of hoped you wouldn't turn up. You were turning out to be the best one, Bishop. I don't want that to go to waste!"

Bishop's blond half-brother, Ost, who had far too many muscles for a fifteen year old, stood behind their father and glared at the sleight.

"So your first son was just an offshoot, was he? An experiment until you got the right batch?" Bishop spat with as much hatred he could muster, and he had years of it stored up.

Torban tutted as he slowly tested the ground for the best position to start from. Each movement brought a wince from the audience. "Jack was unfortunate. He was better than you, but he got too cocky. And here you are making the exact same mistake. Alas, he had poor taste in women too."

Bishop flinched and immediately scowled. "Did you decide that before or after you raped his fiance?"

Contrary to expectation, his father smiled. "Rape? She wanted it. If not at first, she definitely did after."

Bishop spluttered. His sword was hanging low and his body was losing momentum. "Enough of this. You abuse my brothers and sisters day and night, you knew this was coming."

"I did, but to have to cull another son?" He sighed. "Your mother's turning out to be a bad egg all around. At least one of our girls knows how to sell her body for a good price."

"Do you plan to talk me to death or ram your sword through my back like you did with my brother?"

"Ha! As if we are Nords who are bound by "honour". Our people cast us aside, we bandits have no rules." Torban sighed and with biceps that bulged in the light of his entourage's torches, unsheathed the greatsword from his back. It was a mighty thing of notches rusted red where the blood of anyone he took a disliking to had crusted. It may have seen years of battle but it was sharp and irrefutably deadly. Bishop knew, he was the one who'd had to sharpen it after getting a thrashing with the pommel for years.

He watched his father get into position and sway from side to side on loosened legs with the thick blade of steel fate grasped before him. "Your move, Bishop. You're hardly going to parry me with that butter knife, might as well take your chance."

Bishop flicked his dagger around and eyed up his target. All of his weak points, every exposed hint of flesh. Three years ago he had watched his enraged and skilled brother duel with their father in the blistering heat of a dusty barren field of Hammerfell. For three years he had spent every day training himself to the peak of his ability and observing every trademark and mistake his father made in his combat. This first move was everything, everything about his survival relied on it because if he failed, Torban would split him and his knife in half.

His move was to look to his right.

The children watching from the sidelines all looked bewildered as the attention was suddenly all on them. Torban scoffed at the distraction tactic but as Bishop's gaze did not waver, he could not help following it for a split second. The attention had never been on the children, or rather, it had been on one in particular. One with an impossibly subtle sleight of hand that had been pickpocketing Torban for over a decade. None of the family ever paid him any attention and this had enabled him to sneak up right behind Ost, and Torban. He threw a pouch of irritating powder directly at Torban's head and it exploded across the eyesight of everyone close to him. In the midst of it he threw a one handed sword in Bishop's direction and used the distraction to kick Ost in the crotch for good measure.

Torban spluttered and roared until he hacked and chortled menacingly at Bishop's antics. Foreplay was over, he was ready for the killing blow here and now. He prepared to swing wildly through the air, even though he could not see, the reach of his greatsword was guaranteed to hit his son as he came up to attack him. He never got to move the sword past his elbow.

Bishop had covered the distance between them in less than two blinks of his eyes, in a near impossible feat of speed and dexterity. He held back his father with his knife against his throat and Jules's sword impaled in his chest.

"I didn't come here for a duel. I came for revenge." He whispered into Torban's stunned face and yanked out the sword to let him crumple onto the ground.

His father was on the ground and dying, just like he'd imagined since the day he watched Jack die, but he did not look like he'd expected at all. When he'd heard stories of death and even seen it first-hand, people always spoke of the fear that claws into a dying man's soul, the helpless defeat that displays on the face and how the light fades from his eyes. Not this one. Torban was looking up at him and not only smirking but laughing as his blood bubbled up from the fatal rupture in his chest. Bishop looked in every possible direction to check for any last tricks his father had up his sleeve but found none. He remained unsettled, for a man on the brink of death he exuded nothing but victory.

Torban beckoned his son down to hear him. The bloodied smile that accompanied his dying words would haunt his son's nights for years to come. "That's just what I'd have done."

With no more dramatics his head dropped back onto the ground and his chest stilled. Bishop pulled back from him in horror. Torban's eyes were vacant but still open and the sneer remained. The deathly silence was broken by the eldest among the children, Ost. "That was not fair."

If he hadn't have been shaken to his core, Bishop would have laughed in his face. "I gave him more respect than he gave Jack. I didn't even stab him in the back!"

For the first time since initiating the duel, he looked at his surroundings. Everyone had crowded around to stare at the dead hulk of a man on the ground, even their mother. Jules, however, was nowhere to be seen.

"Well? Aren't you going to say anything? He's gone! He's never going to threaten or beat you again!" Bishop cried to the silent witnesses. They still said nothing, but at least the ones who looked indifferent or pleased held Ost and Duful back when they tried to launch at Bishop. They were all waiting for their mother to speak.

Rina was looking down at her dead husband with another man's son in her arms. Neither disgust or relief crossed her face, she looked as casual as someone browsing a market stall full of things they never cared for. But then she turned to the person who was responsible for making her look at it.

"How am I going to pay for you now?" She asked irritably with a curled lip.

Bishop was stunned for a moment. He had never been close with his mother but he had just given her the freedom she'd prayed for all of his life, only to be met with contempt.

"You won't have to. I'm leaving this shithole." It had been his intention from the start but now he swivelled on his heel with invigorated rage.

"Take the body with you, be useful for once!" She called to his retreating back. He only walked faster.

At dusk Bishop paced in front of a small cart that technically only slightly belonged to him. The sleek black horse that he tugged the reins of to keep awake most definitely did not belong to him, but by the end of the night he did not intend to be anywhere that it could be recognized.

Unlike most of his fellow people, he wore his honey brown hair in short tufts that always stood up from stressed mussing or fights of sword and fist or other strenuous activities. Tonight it was the former two.

Five minutes and counting. His co-conspirator had postponed his well-executed plan for a detour that was apparently very important. Enough to risk their lives for. He needed to put more of the quick in quick-fingered, but Bishop never once thought of leaving without him.

His sword still dripped with the blood from a deed he'd dreamed of doing for years. He was seconds away from being chased down for it and he convinced himself that was why his heart pounded at the sight of it. Regardless, he wiped the blood off on the grass and stood up as a small person darted out from the bushes and rushed over to him in a blur with his prize held aloft.

Bishop flicked his eyes all around the field to check he wasn't followed and yanked the horse's reins to rouse it again. "Where have you been?! I told you to meet me here ten minutes ago. As soon as the others find us, we're dead!"

"I was getting this." The hairy thirteen year old grinned and flashed an elegant gold necklace with jewels larger than his fist in the moonlight before shoving it into the many folds of his tunic.

"Seriously? You risked our hides for mother's necklace? She stole that in the first place, it's hardly an heirloom."

"You just killed Torban. I think you could handle our brothers. No, I just secured our future. Whatever we do, we never sell this. We keep it until one day if we're ever on the streets days from starving to death, we sell it and start over again. It's our safety net."

Bishop pondered it for a moment but his smirk was already spreading. This was why he'd brought along his savvy little brother with the 5 o'clock shadow. "Alright, that's pretty clever. Get in." He said and patted the side of the cart. Jules was already wriggling into the mounds of blankets and lanterns as Bishop jumped up into the front seat.

"What's the destination, driver?" He grinned when he made it over to fold his arms over the end of the cart behind Bishop's head. A taupe was caught over his thick hair and his upturned gold eyes shone with adventure.

"What's the one place they can't go?" Bishop as he whipped the black pony into action. "It's time we went home, brother. Skyrim."

* * *

A week later the two brothers dumped the cart in the bustling village of Weye which had the advantage of being on the crossroads just before the bridge to the Imperial City. So many light fingers sifted through the day-to-day Cyrodiilian life that the cart had probably vanished the second it was left unattended.

Their stocky horse was left firmly tethered in the stables of the inn they planned to stay in "for a drink." Not that anyone would consider stealing it while there were so many better Imperial horses around.

The interior of the inn was cramped and crowded with every type of personality who couldn't afford to stay within the Imperial City. They were still more well respected than the ruffians you'd find at the docks though, enough that Bishop and Jules found a very broad arm blocking their path the moment they entered.

"Ah ah ah ah." The owner of the arm tutted at them, looking down at their outfits in apprehension. He was dressed in the greasy overalls of an innkeeper, scuffed brown clothing that was finery compared to theirs. Jules had made use with everything that he could "borrow" and have his mother stitch together so wore an oversized brown tunic and a darned grey undershirt, bundled together by a leather brown belt that doubled over his small waist. Then dark and dusty brown drainpipe leggings; and boots so caked with dirt that even a farmer would think twice before putting them on. Bishop was the height of a man so could find clothes more easily but with battered leather trousers and repeatedly repaired boots that led up to a salvaged chainmail shirt and a sack-like tunic over it, he wasn't much better. "We don't take urchins here. The orphanage is inside the city..." The innkeeper caught the disapproving glance of his wife the barmaid and muttered before rectifying his stance. "By the Divines, Marlene... No trouble, alright? We've already had someone report their cart being stolen just as soon as they let go of it"

"Really?" Bishop challenged, the hatred of his way being blocked fuming out through his furrowed brow.

"Yeah." The innkeeper replied suspiciously and crossed his arms over his rotund belly. "Don't suppose you know anything about it?

A night in the Imperial jails awaited them if the conversation continued like that, Jules knew it. The city itself had seemed like one grand prison to him on approach, an overpopulated hunting ground for someone with a quick mind and quicker fingers, but inside of a prison is not where they wanted to be. So he used the agility of his small frame to dip under the innkeeper's arm and past Bishop. Before either of them had a chance to protest he'd slid up to the bar as he put on his most innocent and endearing face for the barmaid.

"We'd like to rent a room for the night please!" He beamed up at her and placed both of his arms on the counter so it looked like he was struggling to keep his head above it. He could have reached it easily, he was bending his knees just enough to fool her.

Marlene's weathered cheeks dimpled as she smiled. She was a woman in the later stages of her middle years and wore a woolen burgundy dress that hid the shape of her midriff with multiple cloths that were tucked into her apron. "Of course, little man. You and your brother? I'm sorry but the only room we have has just one bed."

"That's alright, we'll share!" He grinned and even did a little perky jump for emphasis. Bishop rolled his eyes.

"Aww, aren't you the sweetest?" She cooed but then paused. "You do have the gold for it, don't you?"

Jules's expression faltered and quivered long enough for her to start looking sympathetic. The innkeeper prepared to throw them out again when he suddenly grinned. "Of course!" He said and produced a small pouch of gold that he smacked onto the table. "How much do you need?"

"Well usually it's twenty but as a reward for having better manners than my own son, ten." She beamed and just fell short of ruffling his hair. Both Bishop and the innkeeper were staring slack-jawed at the exchange. "Second door down!" The barmaid cried as Jules began to skip towards the steps to the rooms.

"Thank you!" He chirped. "Come along, brother!"

Bishop caught him by his elbow as soon as they were around the corner. "What are you doing?! By 'getting a drink' I meant waiting until we could pick one off the table, not actually buy anything! We could have slept in the stables."

"You were about to get us thrown out anyway. Come on, we're free now! I've never slept in a bed before." He pouted and led the way to a narrow corridor. The floors were dull brown planks, the paint of the walls had an off-yellow creamy tint and the beams that framed the panels were a warm brown. Three single doors were the only feature of the right side and each had a single window opposite on the left wall. The dead end featured only a potted plant hanging from the wall.

Bishop grumbled but his brother's excitement was wearing his resistance thin. "Since when do you say please?!" He spluttered as his memory returned to him.

"Since I found out that the ladies love it. You should try it sometime, it gets you many things." Jules snickered and reached for their door.

"Right. Will it get you to shut up for one night?" Said his brother who was leaning sullenly against the windowsill and pointedly not doing anything.

"Maybe."

"Forget it, I have other ways."

With a scream of laughter that silenced the inn hubbub to disapproving mutters, Jules dived into their small rectangle of a room before Bishop could get to him and jumped onto the bed.

"I challenge you to a duel, Ser Broods-a-lot!" He said and brandished the cotton sack behind him filled with feathers and straw. "To a fight, of the pillows!"

"Oh?" Bishop raised an eyebrow as he coyly walked into the room. "You're forgetting one thing, little brother." He bolted the door shut and leaned against it. "I don't play fair." His canines flashed like a wolf's for a split second before he dived for Jules's knees and tackled him down onto the mattress. The laughter of a child turning into a man and a child still able to be a child merged into one for the first time since they'd left their family. If only the light of the day could carry into their nights.

* * *

The horse Bishop had commandeered was damaged goods. They went to it at first light only to discover it had hobbled itself in the loose pebbled courtyard. Until their mount recovered, the innkeeper's wife insisted they stay at no charge whilst they had no more paying guests.

Despite the kindness, Bishop was getting more antsy and crabby with each day they spent in Cyrodiil. Day after day they stood outside the inn and watched the refined people who had business with the City. Noble folk and workers came to and fro on foot, horseback or carriage depending on their status. Some unsavoury types were escorted in by guards but it was only them that the two brothers felt a remote connection to. All of them stuck their noses up at them, even the prisoners who were marching to a life behind bars.

Each night Jules would look down at the sleeping figure of his brother and a question would rise to the tip of his tongue. The question would eat away at him all day but he never disturbed the peace of the night once, who knew when they might sleep safely again? So he settled with his warm but scratchy blanket and turned onto his side with a sigh, like the pause had simply been a disturbance in his slumber.

From the other angle of the room, the white of Bishop's eyes gleamed as he stared at the wall each night. It took all he had to keep his breathing even so Jules wouldn't see him shaking in the weak moonlight from the uncovered window. Nightmares plagued him but they did not wake him with screams or restlessness. He was rigidly frozen in place until morning light, not daring to blink until the grin of his father's corpse faded from his mind. It never did.

On the fourth day their horse was limping significantly less but it was pouring with rain. Not even the inn was getting any lively customers and Jules swung his legs from his barstool with his head sullenly slumping in his hand. Bishop was standing in the shadows trying to quietly fletch arrows with the feathers from Jules's pillow when the door banged open. A harrowing wind brought with it a short but well-built man in drenched leathers and a cape almost black with the amount of water it had absorbed. The silver sword that hung from his hip dripped with a darker kind of liquid. He barged in and made a beeline for the bar with moisture spraying off of him at every moment like a wet dog.

"By Akatosh, Danton, close the door properly for once will you!" The barmaid cried and flapped her hands at the banging door. Bishop slowly nudged it shut with the toe of his boot without taking his eyes off of the scene before him.

"Sorry, Marlene. Hard to tell when you can't see a thing." Danton pulled back his dripping hood to reveal exceedingly pointy ears and roughly cut auburn windswept hair, strands of which fell across his frown-lined forehead to dangle above clouded eyes and red mottled skin that spread across them like a mask. The candlelight was throwing wild shadows over his face, other than the thick dark stubble that covered everything below his cheeks, but it appeared to be bubbling even as he slapped a wet cloth that Marlene handed him over it.

She gasped and her husband grumbled simultaneously. "Oh, Danton. Your poor face!" She said and patted his hand.

He shrugged. "It'll pass soon enough. Doesn't stop it stinging like a bitch though."

The innkeeper huffed and tried to make himself useful by getting the elf a stiff drink. "Goblins again?" He asked and slid an ale bottle across the bar as he stood next to Marlene.

"Their shamans are getting wiser. The wily buggers have started throwing their poisons instead of putting them on spears." Danton inclined the neck of the bottle to him before chugging it back without a tankard. "I don't suppose the boy gawking from behind me knows anything about fighting green abominations?"

Jules stiffened with wide eyes. Not once had Danton looked back or heard him being mentioned, not that he could have seen if he had. The young Nord was still grasping for words when Bishop stormed out of the shadows and answered for him.

"No, he doesn't." He said and Danton visibly flinched at his sudden approach. "But he could stick you a hundred times before you turned around, old man."

The innkeeper spluttered. "Old man?! Boy, you are talking to a hero. Danton has defended these parts for longer than you've been alive! He was a General in the war, he did everything but sell his own self to make sure we got back on our feet after the damn Aldmer-"

"Enough, Silas." Said the veteran with a motion of his hand and began chuckling. "So who do we have here? Someone taught you well, I didn't expect to need to watch the shadows so thoroughly in my own territory."

"He's just some ruffian Marlene took in til their horse fixes up. Good job you're here, it's about time someone put these youths to use. They need gold, right? They look like they can hold a sword!"

"Do they really?" Danton softly snorted in amusement under his breath and pushed back the stray hairs off of his forehead without touching the affected skin. "Well, what do you say boys? It's fifteen gold a head and there are plenty of them out there."

Bishop was looking unconvinced but Jules had been entranced by the glinting coins Danton handed Marlene for his food without a care. He looked at his brother like an eager puppy and clasped his hands together pleadingly in his lap. His wide grin already knew that he was going to say yes.

Bishop sighed and grunted with crossed arms. "You'd better not rob us of a head or we'll be taking yours."

"Will you indeed?" Danton smiled and took a large bite out of his bread. He waited to finish before speaking again. "We'll leave in the morning. When I can tell what something actually is before I bump into it."

With excitement at having a new purpose, Jules followed Bishop to their room and proceeded to ask him all he could about what goblins looked like. Unlike the previous nights, he was not kept awake by his unanswered question for Bishop. But Bishop did not close his eyes once that night for dread of the grin and echoing last words of his dead father that awaited him.

They say "sleeping with one eye open" but Bishop was convinced he'd dozed with both eyes open as to be roused when Jules's feet hit the ground next to his head, all he had to do was raise his eyelids a bit more.

"Come on, today we actually do something!" Jules enthused and his words became stunted as he tried to tug Bishop off the ground with each one. "Rather. Than. Throwing. Pebbles. At. Nobles!"

"Fine, fine! I'm up! Bishop groaned and tried to sit up while shielding his eyes from the rays of morning light. "Let's go fight with the blind soldier." He muttered and reached for his boots apathetically.

Jules didn't notice as he was looking at the bed. "Do you think we should rip up the bedsheets?" He asked with his head cocked. "For extra padding, you know." He clarified as Bishop stared at him in bafflement, paused in mid boot-tug. "Goblins might bite."

"How about we just don't let them?" He sighed and patted him on the head as he picked up their packs and grabbed his bow and quiver from the dresser next to the door.

"Or that. I can go with that." Jules shrugged and looked back fondly at his pillow one last time before grabbing his satchel and following Bishop's lead.

He walked into Bishop's outstretched arm immediately. Bishop was standing tense, feet apart and ready for a fight to defend his little brother. Jules only noticed why when the reason for it spoke and startled him, making him look up from rubbing his nose.

"Call yourselves ruffians? My grandmother gets up earlier than you."

The "blind" soldier was waiting for them at the end of the corridor, now dry and re-wrapping the coverings of his sword's pommel in boredom. His face was strangely square for an elf, with a wide jaw and chin, but his cheekbones were as high and sharp as you'd expect. His muscular body was covered by a tough leather jerkin embossed with steel strips on the more vulnerable areas across his arms and chest. Below it was a fine red tunic, reinforced leather trousers and pointed hide boots like the Imperial Legion. Also like the Legion was his cloak, a long, thick and faded thing that was more brown than burgundy, but if he squinted Bishop was sure he could see the Imperial symbol between his shoulders. But what stood out the most were his eyes. Less than seven hours ago they had been entirely white and raw, the skin around them would have scarred horribly and not healed for months, but looking at them impatiently were two perfectly clear eyes that were reminiscent of the clear night sky when the aurora of Tamriel shone. They were neither completely green or blue but they sparkled with the experience of centuries that the humans would never see. Right now an auburn eyebrow raised above one of them.

"Your eyes..." Jules blurted out in wonder and slowly pointed to his own as if that would make what he meant any clearer.

"I said it'd pass and it did. Now, shall we go? The goblins are finishing their breakfast and you need some proper weapons." Danton motioned for Jules to go ahead of them while he waited for Bishop to make his way over. "Go on, I told Silas to leave some swords behind the bar for you."

The young boy's eyes lit up at the prospect of a new belonging and he barely spared his brother a second glance before barreling past him and sprinting into the inn's common room. Bishop, however, was not so easily swayed and stayed exactly where he was.

"You don't have many scars for a soldier." He remarked dubiously to the clear-skinned elf before him.

Danton patted the chest of his dark leather cuirass. "Not above my neck, perhaps. You never let them get to your face. Your body can heal but if they get your sight, you're done for."

"But they got yours."

The elf laughed. "Goblins may be cunning bastards but their poisons are weak. I knew how to cure all of them."

Bishop looked at all the potion bottles in Danton's bandolier. They were all blue rather than pink, but the man showed no signs of being a mage. "You're a healer?"

"No soldier is getting anywhere without the skill of Restoration." He said and smirked at how repulsed Bishop looked. "You Nords can charge into battle in a berserker rage of invincibility all you want along with the Orcs. The rest of us intend to survive, and healing potions can be stolen."

"So why are you out here? You can fight, why leave the army if you were just going to make yourself the slave of some other place?"

"Because I got tired of sending my brothers to their deaths." He said and sighed when he saw that Bishop wasn't satisfied. "I've done my duty for Cyrodiil. It's time I searched for my daughter but to do that I need gold. There are plenty of places in Cyrodiil that need strong arms now that the war's over."

"Like saving farmers from pests?"

"Like saving farmers from pests." He snorted and shifted his weight. "Pretty big pests, too. The gold pays well and those farmers have daughters, if you're interested in that." Danton cleared his throat and got up from leaning against the wall. "Are you done with the inquisition now or are you going to ask me for the rest of my life story before we walk down some steps together?"

Bishop conceded the point and sighed as he walked over. Danton's expression grew more troubled with each step as Bishop's face became more clear in the light from the windows.

"I knew a man who could disappear into shadows like you did last night too." He said quietly as Bishop came to a stop next to him. "And he was no assassin, he was much worse. I thought it was coincidence until I saw your face."

The youth's amber eyes flashed at the recognition and he slammed the veteran against the wall with his dagger to his throat. "I am not like him!" He spat.

"I'm not the one holding a knife to a stranger's neck." Danton retorted coolly and waited for Bishop to pull back so he wouldn't disprove his own point. He stood as normally as he had before when the teenager pulled away with fuming frustration. "Your father was rash too, I'd get that under control if you want to keep that boy out of danger."

Bishop glowered at him as he cooled down and moodily sheathed his dagger with more force than was needed.

Danton chuckled and cuffed his shoulder to put him at ease. "Come on, you can take out some of that angst on a few overgrown frogs."

As soon as they stepped down into the common room, however, they were met with the point of a longsword being swung inches away from their faces. Bishop dropped into a crouch and Danton dived in the opposite direction of the swing and caught Jules's wrist before he could do any more damage.

Marlene ducked behind the bar, trying to save her neck but not offend Jules. The people at the table closest to them looked like two monks who had just been subjected to a Dibellan ritual. Whilst one man at the back of the room laughed hysterically in a deep baritone.

Danton stepped back as Jules tried to figure out how to maneuver the heavy sword and almost stabbed his own foot. "Ah, you'd probably be better off with the shorter one. Here, we'll swap."

He unattached and threw his own personal embossed elven dagger, more a short scimitar to a boy, and Jules caught it deftly. He was about to throw the longsword until Marlene squealed and he slid it across the floor instead.

With a clean _snick_ Jules whipped the dagger out of its scabbard and began whipping it through the air with deadly accuracy. At least now his range was limited to the nearest wooden post and the rest of the inn's patrons relaxed. He finished off with a kick to the post that made Marlene wince and grinned at Danton, eyes shining with anticipation of his approval.

The elf nodded thoughtfully. "I've only ever been on the receiving end of those moves, you'll have to show me sometime."

"And you'll teach me how to use one of those big swords?"

"Perhaps when you grow some of the muscle you Nords are so famous for." He smiled and turned back to give Bishop the same attention, only to find that he was standing smugly with bow, arrows, dagger and sword all sheathed and ready to go. "And I believe that's it!"

"Will you be back soon?" Marlene asked, hiding how relieved she was at the danger to her tavern leaving with them. Bishop discreetly left a big scuff on the end of the counter with his boot.

Danton looked at the two capable boys joining him and shook his head. "With any luck, not for a long time."

Marlene smiled even wider as Jules ran past her to join his brother and the man they now followed. "Goodbye then, Danton. And good luck, to all of you!"

* * *

They left like a hunter and his apprentices. The morning was quieter than what the later hours would be but for once, nobody looked twice at them. The sun was shining and the birds were tweeting, even Bishop was starting to relax. As they left the gate and turned onto the road, Jules turned around so he could walk backwards to talk to their new friend without missing a reaction. A question had already bubbled to his lips when he saw Danton fall to his knees with a strangled breath and a deeply embedded dagger sticking out of his chest.

Jules was about to cry out and run to him but Bishop grabbed him and turned them around to face the source of the dagger. An Imperial with the mismatched cruddy armour of a bandit admired his work and fondled the tip of another dagger. His hair was blonde and chopped short and was clean shaven to display the array of scars crisscrossing his face. He was no more than a few years older than Bishop and seemed to be taking joy in every grunt that Danton made as the elf pulled the dagger out of him.

The bandit nodded in greeting at Jules and Bishop. "This one took far too many bounties on us lately, even killed my sister. Cheers for leading me to him." He smiled, making his heavily scarred right cheek wrinkle like an old hag's.

"We didn't lead _anyone_ here." Bishop glared, trying to ignore how Jules was attempting to make him look back at Danton.

"You're kidding me? The trails that cart of yours left? Couldn't be better if you decorated the path with rose petals. Been following you for days." He sniffed and waggled his eyebrows at them but his tone was putting Bishop on edge. "The name's Mark. Because I mark my face every time I kill someone worthy enough." He nodded in the direction of Danton and drew his knife across his left cheek. When the warm blood ran and dripped onto the ground he smeared it with his grubby fist. He didn't wince.

"I am-" Bishop pushed Jules behind him even more. " _We_ are not part of your 'us' anymore. You followed us for nothing."

Mark scoffed in his face. "We're all hearing about how you killed your daddy. It's time you stepped up, take your inheritance... or if you want to be rid of it that badly... pass it on." He grinned at the revelation of his motive. He wildly twirled his remaining dagger in his hand and pulled another from his back.

Bishop looked behind them for the first time. Danton had crumpled into a pool of his own blood. Even if he could heal himself, he'd be out of action for days at the least. Bishop closed his eyes. Saving Danton meant being tied down to one man and turning against one of their own for a life of safety and rules, but staying in Mark's good graces meant killing the man who'd done nothing but help them and continuing his father's legacy. Or... He scrunched up his face and pushed his brother away.

"Jules get the horse, now!"

Jules sprinted to the stables without question but his face showed a hundred doubts and questions.

Mark cocked his head as he cottoned on to what was happening. "Oh come on, I knew your lot were thick but not that..."

The bandit's words were cut off by Jules galloping out of the stables on their fully tacked black horse and only stopping briefly to let Bishop leap up behind him and take the reins.

Two guards on the Imperial City bridge had noticed Danton's body and were yelling as they ran over. They'd already latched eyes onto Mark, there was no escape for him now and he knew it.

"What are you gonna do out there, play farmer and become one with the furry little animals?" Mark laughed weakly and tried to resist the guards as his only escape galloped away.

He screamed after them as they fled to their journey around the Imperial lake and through all of the bandit-ridden forests to Skyrim. "WE COULD HAVE HAD SOMETHING, BISHOP!"

After the first night of camping alone they changed riding positions so that Bishop sat first and Jules was behind him. For the few times that they were pursed, Jules could easily turn around and shoot the fools who challenged them.

It was on the steep and solitary road up to Bruma that Jules got round to asking the question that had plagued his nights. As Bishop could not move away while on horseback, it was the only time he was sure that his brother wouldn't avoid the question.

"Why didn't you just kill him in his sleep?"

Bishop replied monotonously, like he'd been repeating it in his head for days. "Danton was a healer, he could have handled himself. We didn't know that was going to happen."

"I meant Torban." Jules said quietly. "We could have slit his throat together without anyone knowing before we were miles away, Mark would never have found us and..."

"You don't remember when he killed Jack..." Bishop shook his head and spat over the edge of the mountain that their horse was dangerously close to. "He humiliated him. Like he did with all of us every day that we lived with him. I wanted him to feel the same before he died."

"Think he did?" Jules asked and leaned to the right as they turned left up to another tier of the mountain path.

Bishop pretended to fiddle with the reins to hide his pause. "'Course he did."

On the fifth day they reached the frozen mountain town. Everything was white or grey, there was hardly any darkness to be seen in the rocks and already Jules was longing for the grass and green trees of the forests. Anything that wasn't covered in wet fluff that made his nose hurt.

He'd been shivering and staring at the fur of Bishop's rucksack for hours but now he could hold himself back no more. The thirteen year old wrapped his arms around Bishop's midriff to cling to his body heat like a bear cub.

Bishop had dealt with the cold by going into a numb silence and now twisted around at the sudden touch forcing him to be aware again. "Get off me!"

"You're a proper Nord! I'm only half, and I've hardly ever seen snow!" Jules whined and tried to prove his point more by forcing Bishop to feel more of his freezing body by placing his hands on his bare neck.

"Oh for- fine." He urged the horse into a canter to a signpost at a three way crossroads overlooking a plateau. The west road had the city of Bruma well within its sights but the north road is where they wanted to go. For the time being, though, they dismounted.

"Have this." Bishop grumbled and unclipped his worn cloak, something he'd acquired recently from bandits who'd been careless about how closely to the road they left their belongings. He unceremoniously threw it on Jules's head and went to move the horse's reins over its head.

"Thaaaaaaaank you." He quipped cheerily and snuggly wrapped himself in it.

"Thank-" Bishop shook his head, unable to continue grasping what he'd said. "Why have you started speaking like this?!"

"Because I found out that it annoys you." Jules smiled.

Bishop muttered indecipherably under his breath and began to lead the horse down the road to Bruma. "Wait here if you want. I won't be long and you'll be less annoying."

"Wait, you're taking him to the stables? Wh- are you selling him?!"

"Either we sell him here and get the gold we need to bribe the guards at the border, or we try to sell him at the border where no one's looking for a horse and freeze to death."

"Awww, do we have to? I was starting to really like him. I even gave him a name."

"You did? What did you call him?" Bishop smirked, waiting for the smart-arse comment of Jules simply calling him something as obvious as "Horse".

"Goodbye, Danton" The boy mumbled into the horse's mane and patted his neck as his brother led him away. He then wrapped his cloak tightly around him and sat in a huddled ball at the base of the old signpost.

Jules's whisper struck Bishop into a silence. He didn't even have the heart to haggle with the stablemaster who only gave him three hundred gold for the horse instead of the thousand he would charge.

"Let's go," he tried to say with his younger brother's perkiness when he returned, "the homeland awaits and I'll leave you in a snowdrift if we get caught in a late night blizzard."

" _Your_ homeland. I wasn't born there." Jules muttered as he eased himself up despite his rucksack's weight and brushed off the snow that had accumulated.

"Then I'll send you back to the sandy jungles!" The older one cried and led the way up the road to Skyrim's borders.

Jules rolled his eyes. "Wasn't born there either."

"You can die there." Bishop suggested slyly.

Jules paused as he considered the proposition and jogged up with a new outlook. "I think I can make Skyrim my homeland too." He nodded like they were taking it seriously.

With a grin of his own, Bishop ruffled his hair and pulled him into a headlock of a hug as they walked along, vanishing into the snowfall. This was them, two brothers going to make themselves men in a new land with no baggage, no vengeance, no debts and no rules. Just the clothes on their back and the tents in their packs.


	2. 2 - Harsh Realities

Silence reigned throughout the woods where the only thing disturbing the creatures of the forest were their own footsteps. The snapping of a twig alerted a skittish deer, forcing the predator to pause and adjust its stance. The doe leapt off to the side, whirling to stare into the foliage until it finally settled with much disgruntled head shaking.

Bishop didn't dare smile as he drew back the arrow. A sense of power shuddered through him. A God had not only entered the woodland's food chain, but was a part of it. He nipped his lip in concentration as a breeze buffeted his face and he angled his bow up just a little to counter it. The shot was perfect and he knew it, but he waited for his prey to duck its head down and relax completely. He was about to set the arrow loose when a deafening cough sent every living thing within earshot fleeing for cover. Bishop had jolted to and painfully watched the arrow he'd spent hours on perfecting fly wildly into a thorn bush.

"That was going to feed us for a week!" He lamented and threw his hands up in the air. He watched the doe trot away into the woods. "How many times are you going to do that?" He turned around to glare at the source of the coughing. But instead of a sheepish smile he saw his brother dropping to his knees. Wide eyed, he couldn't stop the hacking fit.

The string of pelts, bow and arrows Bishop carried were dropped to the dirt of the forest floor as quickly as they left his mind when he saw his brother's pained and unusually pasty face. He ran over and slid on his knees next to the curled up boy.

"Jules? Jules." He called out calmly and placed a hand on his brother's shaking back, then one on his chest to sit him up, "breathe. Just keep breathing." Bishop winced. He could feel his brother's bones protruding beneath his hands. Jules eventually did calm with his brother's firm support to keep him from panicking, but it was gradual and with much wheezing. Jules shook him off when his composure returned and turned to straighten up. "Slowly." Bishop warned and kept a wary hand on his shoulder regardless.

"I don't know, I stopped counting a few weeks back." Jules bitterly responded to the question from five minutes ago. He took another deep breath and looked guiltily at his hands as he meekly noted their dilemma. "You said we would never hunt alone."

Bishop pursed his lips as he considered this and eased to his feet as he voiced his decision: "And we never will." Jules blinked at him and the hand he offered bewilderedly. "Come on, there's some old woman in a shack to the east. There's gotta be something she can do for you."

Jules took the hand that waved impatiently in his face and was pulled to his feet. "But we can't pay her!"

The cocky seventeen year old strode back to pick up everything he'd dropped and turned around with a flourish when he had them, holding out a pouch of coins with a smirk. "People usually take gold, I think she'll cope with it."

"But how..." Jules stood cluelessly among all the things he'd been carrying and his upturned eyes half closed as he realised what Bishop had done. "You stole from those nobles? I could have got ten times that much if you told me we were doing that!"

"I didn't steal! They dropped it when their horses got spooked, I was just cleaning up the mess. We don't do that anymore and we're not going to."

"And who spooked the horses?" Jules muttered, too miffed at missing the chance to use his skills to notice that Bishop was picking up all of the things he'd dropped as well.

Bishop looked over his shoulder and slung Jules's half of the load over it like he'd been carrying it all from the start. "Come on, let's go. Before you choke on another hairball."

* * *

The cabin was very much a shack. With planks that rotted from damp and stones that were glazed with the dirt of decades gone by. But to Jules, who'd only called camping grounds and tents his home for all of his life, it was very much a house. Bishop seemed to be struck by the same feeling as he froze at the bottom of the path of trodden grass and scuffed dirt leading up to it. He rolled his shoulders and cleared his throat several times as he stared at the door like he'd forgotten how to knock.

Jules sent him a sideways glance and elbowed him. "Want me to cough until she opens it?"

Bishop scowled at that and harrumphed up the path to knock solidly on the dark wooden door three times. It opened on the second.

A rotund woman who reached Bishop's chest looked up at him from the threshold of the house with her arms crossed. She looked stern with alert steel blue eyes but the lines on her face implied she smiled often. Grey hair was half-heartedly bundled into a bun that had an entire layer of loose hair that reached her shoulders beneath it. Her attire was a nondescript mix of a practical dark green dress, three aprons varying in levels of stains and bulging pockets, and a grey undershirt that had the sleeves rolled up past her wrinkled elbows. She said nothing, only raising her eyebrow and tapping her foot as she waited for him to explain his presence.

Bishop blinked for a few moments in the rain before stiffly holding out the pouch of gold. "My brother's sick. Help him."

"That's it? Have a problem with articulation yourself, dearie?" She chuckled to herself until a harrowing cough from the completely drenched boy standing by the door caught her attention. "Oh, bring him in!" She tutted and briefly gestured to the bed behind her before bustling over to her shelves of ingredients and tinctures.

The two boys ambled in with curious eyes flitting about. Jules was eagerly and openly taking everything in but Bishop was squinting at every corner for anything that might jump out and take advantage of his brother's weak state.

There wasn't much for them to focus on as the cottage was small, L-shaped and rather backwards. A single bed covered with neat but rugged furs was placed opposite the front door and it cordoned off the corner to its left where a bulging cabinet that reached the thatched roof's wooden beams was placed along with an alchemy table and many hanging baskets of ingredients. The other end of the cottage featured the woman's own double bed and drawers, as well as a stocked kitchen around the corner. To the immediate left of the front door was a thinner wooden door that led to the outhouse, which the woman shut as soon as she caught Bishop looking at it.

In the centre of the cottage's longest wall, Bishop frowned at a display of one too many staffs but his attention was caught by their host barking out before he could focus on them.

"Sit," she said to Jules as he continued to stand near the door like a lemon. He scooted over to the bed as she pointed it out yet again but regretted it when the abrupt movement reduced him to another coughing fit. The surprise of her suddenly turning around and peering down his mouth with a torchbug jar for a light shocked him into silence, but he continued to wheeze until his eyes streamed.

"How long has he had this?" She asked and briskly turned around to fetch another item from the shelves.

Bishop shrugged and looked cluelessly at Jules who was giving him askance looks as he tried to stay as still as possible. Hoping that it might discourage the woman from prodding him so much. "A month? A few months...?" He said, inwardly hitting himself for not having paid more attention to this.

Her sigh was as reprimanding as a slap across the face. "Been around any nasty people, filthy dogs...?"

Bishop drew up to his full height defensively and crossed his arms even tighter so they flexed. "We live in the forest."

She wasn't facing him to see this threatening display as she flicked through a dog-eared tome from the bookshelf next to the bed. Jules was relaxing at the lapse in the prodding but was made alarmed once more as his eyelids were briefly lifted up. She snapped the book shut, sighed deeply again and pinched the bridge of her nose. "For how long?"

"All our lives!" Bishop retorted as if it was not a thing to be questioned.

"But not all your lives without family?"

Jules was looking at her warily now and even Bishop was getting more distressed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his older brother drop his arms and give him the signal to get ready to run.

"We don't need them. Are you saying I don't know how to look after my brother?" He said while edgily trying to figure out a way to get Jules past the woman.

She wasn't moving an inch and had intentionally placed herself in the most blocking position. "A growing boy needs more than just red meat and wild vegetables, you are not Bosmer. You claim to have lived in the woods all your life but look at your clothes. Even the worst parents know how to dress their children and there were many children to dress, weren't there, son of Torban?"

Both of the boys abruptly froze into place like lightning had struck them. "How do you know that? Who are you?" Bishop demanded and drew his knife.

The woman didn't flinch. "What do you think I am? Some miracle healer who wastes her talent as a hermit in the woods only treating the squirrels? I work with the cartel, you dimwit. Your family is more famous than you think, their banishment from Skyrim has become quite a fond story between bandits."

"So what are you going to do now? Sell us out?" Bishop snarled and reminded her of the knife by rotating the blade as he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

She looked at it like it was an offending stick covered with faeces. "Put that down you buffoon, of course not. I don't blame you for killing your father, he was a mean piece of work even when I knew him. Your brothers have put quite a price on your heads for it but it won't make it to Skyrim. I suggest you stay in the province for a few years, let it die down."

"Uh, Torban was his father. Just saying." Jules piped up and grinned cheekily.

She grunted lightly. "Well, the bounty's on both of you. I see more orphans and runaways than Honorhall but unlike them, I don't advise you find work in a city, not yet." She mused and started pacing the small space of her alchemy alcove. She seemed dazed until she snapped around to point at Bishop, making him flinch back. "You can pass for a grown man but your brother... He needs a home. Four walls, a roof, solid food, a hearth and warm blankets."

"We've lived without them fine so far." Bishop repeated stubbornly.

"Not with a case of Rattles like this you haven't. The boy's all skin, hair and bone. Nobody can recover while they're like that. I'm sending you to Lost Knife. My grandsons will give you work and a place to sleep." She bustled over to the kitchenette they couldn't see even though they leant sideways simultaneously and returned almost instantly with a pre-prepared hamper. "You leave in the morning after you've eaten. There's a cart in Falkreath that will take you to Whiterun if you ask nicely, after that you're on your own."

"Wait, aren't you going to heal him?" Bishop held out his hand with concern as she made to leave.

The old woman scoffed. "So you can go back to playing hermits in the woods? No. But you can." She gathered her own cloak and staff and was out of the front door before they could think of anything to say. "I'll be back by morning, you'd better be gone by then. Your brother gets the bed."

"And where do I sleep?"

She couldn't resist ducking her head in for one last retort. "I'm sure you'll find even my floors comfier than Kyne's rooty arse." She smiled and closed the door with a bang.

"We can share the bed if you want. I can scoot and I'm not that big yet-"

"No, it's fine. Just, eat and get some sleep." He grumbled and settled down on the pelt laid in front of the hearth. He was trying to ignore how good the warmth of the fire felt when a bread roll bonked against his head.

"You've got to try this!" Said the thrower as he rolled his eyes into his head and groaned with a full mouth at the divinity of it when Bishop turned around to complain. "It's better than anything you ever made!"

"Yeah? You'll take that back next time we're in the forest and your growling stomach is scaring away all the actual food!" He took a bite anyway.

They ate in silence until a voice from far away echoed through the cottage like it was right next to them. "Oh and if I find one thing of mine missing, I know where to find you, son of Torban!"

It startled Bishop so much that all of his limbs flailed as he tried to hurriedly sit up and draw his weapon.

Jules chortled as he stuffed his cheeks with the last of the bread. "I think that was her way of saying goodnight."

"Night then." His brother mumbled, trying not to show how much his heart was racing. Jules happily jumped under all the furs and bounced his head as he snuggled into the straw pillow. Bishop tried not to crack his head on the stone floor.

Jules's moment of perkiness had been short lived. As his breathing became heavy with sleep, Bishop could hear his lungs shake and wheeze, protesting and making him try to unconsciously cough with every other breath.

Bishop hated every second of it. He made a fuss of turning onto his left side and focusing on the crackling fire instead. The jumping flames reflected in his eyes and died as they sent him to sleep, all with the thought that whatever it took to make his brother well again, he'd do it.

* * *

The town of Falkreath was so submerged in its forest that visually you couldn't tell where it began, but the sounds were unmistakable to two hunters attuned with the woods. The hubbub of early morning life reached their ears. Chickens greeted the day, merchants opened their shops, drunks groaned and a few children ran about, away from their parent's feet.

"I don't know why you keep saying this place is so dull. They have an inn, what more do you need?" Bishop asked as he pointed to what he thought was the town's main feature. Not without a bit of longing as their destination was instead the smithy on the other side of the street.

"All their drinks are too strong. I get dizzy and they still think I'm a little kid," Jules reminded him with his innocently peaky voice. "I couldn't buy anything even if we had any gold which we don't because you won't let us stea-"

A sudden turn around a tree put them straight into the rear end of a laden cart and an amused blacksmith who'd heard every word.

"Looking for a ride, boys?" He asked, throwing an axe as thick as his arm into the stockpile of iron weapons, armour and chests.

Bishop squinted at him and eased back, ready to run or fight. "What's it to you?"

"Well, you're either gawking at my cart like it's a tavern wench because you want a ride, or you want my merchandise. And I'd really advise against that last one." The blacksmith picked up a sword longer than Jules and handled it with deliberation as he pointedly glanced at all the nearby guards on patrol.

"Uh, we do, sir! To Whiterun. If you have room of c-"

Bishop elbowed his brother in the ribs before he could ask too nicely.

The blacksmith threw the longsword into the cart with a sudden smile. "Good. Can you pay or can you use those swords?" He began walking to the front of the cart before they could respond.

"Oh w-we can't pay-" Again, Bishop nudged him.

"What do you mean?" He asked as the man made sure his horse was secured and hefted himself up to the driving seat.

"Those swords in the back. Can you use them?"

Bishop blinked at the variety of deadly blades and smirked. "Absolutely."

"Good. You can be my guards. Hop in, we've lost time already." He looked back at them and slapped the wood of the cart behind his seat to get them moving.

Bishop boosted Jules up and waited until he'd found a chest to perch on before jumping up himself. The cart had begun moving and was out of Falkreath while his foot still dangled.

"Now, I don't need your life stories and you don't need mine. The silence of the road is the only silence I get these days. If anything follows us, you hit it. Understood?"

"Mute mallets at your command." Jules quipped.

Bishop smiled and settled down for a ride free of chitchat. They'd hit the jackpot.

"Don't ever marry, boys, the woodland creatures will become your only friends." Their driver muttered, retreating into the thoughts of his own troubles. He didn't speak again until they stopped to camp.

* * *

The blacksmith had the tent, the brothers offered bedrolls and Bishop caught them dinner in the form of a skewered skeever. All seemed well until it began to rain. The cold damp crept into the dark night and weighed the air around them like a heavy fog they couldn't see. A grimace was on Jules's face where there was once a childlike grin, as he coughed through the night. He tried to muffle the noise with his bedroll but neither of the men next to him let it go unnoticed, nor the wolf who'd been sniffing out their trail from the edges of their sight. Bishop threw the wolf his uneaten food when he spotted it skulking around the tents and in return, they were not bothered by any of the predators they knew their noise should have been attracting. When Jules reached the peak of his coughing fits, a howl accompanied him. One that gave of the feeling of protection rather than the victorious howl of a hunt. After that, he slept. The blacksmith kept the warm fire stoked as long as he could stay awake and Bishop kept watch without once asking for them to take turns.

The sun was setting by the time Bishop woke again. He was reclining precariously on the moving cart's bench with a chest to support his back and head, and only his pack to make it less uncomfortable on his neck. Jules slept on the floor of the cart in the only space free of armour and weapons. Because of this he sat upright in his sleep so his head rested against his brother's leg.

Bishop groaned and rubbed his eyes to adjust to the orange skies he'd come to associate with setting up tents and sleeping. He tried to move as little as possible so as not to disturb Jules's unusually peaceful slumber, he could feel the heat of the boy's fever even just on his leg. He twisted his upper torso around to face the blacksmith anyway.

"We're not stopping to make camp?"

The blacksmith startled a little at the sudden voice in his peaceful lull but smiled and shook his head. They were coming into view of cobbled stone structures and thatched roofs set between mountains and the calm river. "Nah, this is Riverwood. I've got a deal with the merchants here anyway, thought we'd stay at the inn for the night."

"All three of us?"

"Hey, the steps are out here if you prefer but if they've got beds free, you're welcome to them." He said, looking as if he couldn't care less as they trundled past the smithy and the general store.

A bump in the road startled them all and Jules blearily blinked himself awake after his head slammed twice into Bishop's leg. "Is this Whiterun?" He asked, looking at all the buildings they passed.

"No, it's just a village." Bishop shrugged with complete disregard. A disgruntled local crossing the street was amused to see him be almost thrown out of the cart as their horse bolted around a corner. A shadow of an animal had darted through its legs to the other side of the road but they moved on too fast for them to see it.

"You two alright?" The blacksmith asked as he, too, tried to keep his seat on the cart and directed the horse to turn into the space of grass behind Riverwood's inn.

"Yep, definitely awake now." Jules groaned and tried to raise himself up as the sudden change of pace made him smack into the board at the rear of the cart. Along with all of the sharp and pointy cargo.

"You sure leaving the horse in their garden is a good idea?" Bishop asked as they halted and their driver dismounted.

He snorted and went to secure his very passive steed. "You think a horse wants their cabbages?" He laughed and shook his head, walking back to where the brothers were tentatively dismounting and led the way to the inn. "You've got a lot to learn about food, boy. First step is to stay away from the baked potatoes. They were baked a month ago. Actually, it's best to just drink here."

"Wait, they have mead here?" Asked Jules with eyes as wide as the rising moons. He jumped up onto the steps to the inn and practically bounced on the spot as he awaited an answer.

"Yeah, Falkreath's having a dry spell. 'Course Whiterun has all the best stuff but-"

Jules had already run into the inn. Before they followed him, the blacksmith paused at the foot of the steps and turned to Bishop.

"Look, I know I said no life stories but I couldn't help but notice... him. You're going to Whiterun, so Temple of Kynareth, eh?"

"He does not need magic prayers." Bishop growled as the blacksmith awkwardly reached for the pouch around his waist that held his coin. Presumably in an act of charity.

The blacksmith stuck his thumbs in his belt loopholes instead. "No, 'course not. We're Nords. But they know their stuff. When my brother left the army he brought back some nasty Cyrodiilic disease. We all thought he was done for but we took him to the temple and he was right again in weeks."

"He didn't get ill in Cyrodiil."

"Ah, well, wherever you're going, he'll recover. Strapping young lads that you are. Well, best go in and drink to his health, eh?"

He gave himself one affirming nod before turning his back on Bishop and heading into the inn, muttering all the way.

Bishop was about to follow when a glint from in between the steps made him put down his raised foot. A grey snout poked out from beneath the inn's decking and sniffed the small patch of flora in front of it. The stark yellow eyes of a wolf glared at his every move, pinning him on the spot. A smile crept onto his face at the opportunity of meeting such a beast up close and he slowly crouched down to be less of a threat. The wolf couldn't care less and padded out to scavenge the patch for any edible scraps that the inn's patrons had discarded over the railings. It was a she and her coat turned out only to be grey underneath. From the top her fur was a midnight black and it shimmered down to white paws, but it was heavily matted and covered in dirt. Her graceful steps had an urgency to them and her movements were made sluggish by a belly that hung low and wide.

Despite her pregnancy and how thin the rest of her was, Bishop didn't doubt for a second that she was capable of tearing his throat out. "You want me to get you some food again?" He asked with open and laid back body language but she spooked as soon as a wooden step creaked under his body and fled into the night with the same speed she'd had when startling their horse.

With a sigh, all he could do was enter the inn.

The light of the fire from the huge pit caught his senses unawares before he could focus. He searched for Jules but his attention was immediately drawn by another. There was a completely hooded and cloaked figure sitting away from him in the shadows that seemed like a familiar form, but he had to shake himself and carry on. There was no way that anyone from Skyrim would recognise him, and no cross-country bounty hunters that their remaining family could afford.

Bishop got kicked in the shins from where he was standing. "Stop gawking and drink!" Said Jules's young voice at the table next to him. "I saved you one." He said and nudged a bottle to his brother as he sat on the bench. "Damn, it's actually warm in here!"

The elder brother frowned at the statement. "This isn't the first building we've been in..."

"I know but, it's been really cold lately. Even with the fires. Haven't you felt it?" Jules stuck out his lower lip and shrugged as Bishop only frowned at him further, gulping back his mead to avoid any nagging. "Is it good that a wolf has been following us since Falkreath?"

Bishop reacted to the change in conversation by hunching forwards and idly rotating his bottle of ale. "I noticed. She's carrying. I didn't want to put her down. She probably thinks we stink of food."

"How can you tell?"

"She's huge, Jules." He said flatly, looking at him patronisingly beneath heavily-drooping eyelids.

Jules wrestled with his words and ran both hands through his brown hair, elbows on the table and arms hiding his face from Bishop. "Yeah but... you saw mother like that a lot, right? Did she... after she had me... did she care? Because I don't remember..."

Bishop sat upright and his eyes glinted like he was a wolf whose hackles were raising. "We left them. You never need to think of them again. In fact, why did a pregnant bitch even remind you of her? It's not a position we're going to put any woman in again."

"That wasn't what I asked." Jules mumbled, prodding his plate of charred skeever bits.

"Because you already know the answer. I'm never going to lie to you, even if you want me to." Bishop asserted vehemently and used the corner of the table to support his rise from it. "Now I'm joining our ride at the bar to get something stronger. You get some sleep in this 'warmth'."

Jules rolled his eyes and mimed his brother's words in mockery but he soon stilled and stared drowsily at his mead. His head was already starting to thud with a pain that felt like needles stabbing into his eyes from his skull. Rather than head for one of the rooms and inquiring if they were free, he resorted to curling up as much as possible at the table and burying his head into his arms.

* * *

The next morning crept into the inn through the small and thick squared windows near the rafters, filtering in rays of light that were met with groans from those who had decided not to return home for the night. Bishop came out of his room more alert than all of them combined. He was disappointed to find that Jules was one of those hungover table-sleepers and put off their confrontation by sliding up to the blacksmith who hadn't moved from the bar.

"Want me to drive the cart today?" He asked, noting the hangover the man seemed to be nursing in a dazed state.

"Nah, lad." He said hoarsely after a pause that was far too long and troubled. "Look, Whiterun's over the bridge, just follow the river. But there's... trouble out there. I'm not going anywhere for a few hours, up to you if you want to wait."

"We're not going to Whiterun. We'll walk."

The blacksmith winced. "If you're sure... Best of luck to you. There's plenty of lone wolves out there, and I'm not just talking about wolves. They prey on the weak, watch yourselves."

"We're the ones they need to be watching." Bishop retorted and looked at him oddly when he gave no response. He quickly turned to survey the tavern with their packs in his fists.

The hooded man he'd noticed the previous evening wasn't there, but neither were any of the nightly patrons. "Come on." He said and patted Jules's back to wake him up. "We're moving. You can get used to the daylight on the way."

Jules got his rucksack thrown into his face, making him topple back onto the rest of the bench before he could respond.

The younger boy tottered out into the beautiful cloudless day with bloodshot eyes and Bishop laughed as he strolled over Riverwood's stone bridge. "You should have accepted all my offers to start drinking when you were younger, you'd be used to it by now. Want me to dunk you in the river?"

Jules scowled and held his pack to his chest tightly. "It all tasted too bad."

Bishop ignored him and wagged his finger in the air. "Ahh I forgot, cats can't swim."

"Ha. Ha." Said his brother, severe sarcasm compensating for his inability to roll his eyes without pain.

They ventured down towards the Whiterun crossroads in silence after that. Wolves howled in the forests beyond the trees hugging the road and casting shadows on them, but no wildlife ever approached. Jules was staring at his feet with tenuous dedication on remembering how to keep walking. Not once noticing how fondly Bishop was looking down at him, or the concern behind his eyes. With four years between them, this was likely one of the last times he'd be able to tilt his head at his little brother as Jules had already grown to reach his shoulder in the space of five months. Before that he had reached his elbow.

When they came out of the shadows and into the light once more, and Jules was able to actually look up this time, Bishop noticed that there was one shadow that did not fade from Jules's face. "You need to shave, little brother." He grinned.

"Yeah, right." Jules was about to scoff and make some retort but they both stopped in disbelief. His voice had suddenly gone deeper than Bishop's.

Bishop laughed but looked back at the inn warily. "Well, shit. Was there something in that mead last night?"

"I don't know!" Jules said croakily as he rubbed his throat.

"Well you've either been poisoned or you're becoming a man." Bishop announced as he treaded heavily through the grass decline before them rather than go all the way around the winding road. "You're doomed in both cases."

"Oh come on! You're not even eighteen yet. You're judging adulthood already? We're going to be better than your father."

"Or your father. Or everyone's father, or every man we've ever met." He listed them all in a light tone but he scowled more with each one.

"The blacksmith wasn't so bad." Jules suggested.

The snort in reply was immediate. "That's because we were doing something _for_ him!"

"What about Danton?"

There was a pause before Bishop responded with no trace of lightness in his voice. "You saw what happened to him. You can't be like that when you're dealing with people like us."

Jules watched him walk on with his broad shoulders hunched defensively, even though he doubted his brother realised it. With a sigh he decided not to argue and hopped down from the last rock on the hill to the road. As his legs hit the ground he winced at the pain that shot up his calves. "Do we have to walk? Can't we just steal another horse?"

"Horses can be tracked. No one knows who we are here. We can be anything, we're not gonna waste that by starting out as horse thieves."

"Instead we're going to start out as bandits!" Jules muttered back with as much bitter irony he could muster as he tried to flex the aching out of his muscles while catching up.

He bumped straight into Bishop who had come to a standstill and was staring at their destination. The mountains to the east had a winding path going around them that sloped up with the terrain. A cloaked figure was disappearing on the horizon of that road, one that the keen tracker was certain he'd seen in the inn the other night.

Jules took his brother's squinting gaze as irritation, however. "Hey, I'm not complaining I'm just pointing out that your logic is-"

Bishop turned to him with a suspiciously perkier tone. "You know what, we don't need to be anywhere tonight and the hunting plains are right here. We need food first. We're running low." He then began leading them to the west, where the Whiterun plains were bountiful and nothing except prey lingered on the horizon.

"If we need food then why did we even leave the inn?!" Whined the tired and hungover half-Khajiit. He followed regardless.

* * *

The brothers hunted well with no coughing fits in the dryer region to scare off the prey. With their packs stuffed with salted meat and Bishop's suspicion of being stalked at ease, they resumed their journey in days.

To hunt they had kept to the trees to get the more portable prey such as wolves, foxes and elk, rather than risk the significantly larger predators. Bishop lead the way, staying downwind and out of sight. Despite his careful steps a giant camp loomed ahead of them, next to their narrow road between the river and mountains, making passing it unavoidable. Bishop had already devised a plan to get past unheard, unseen and unscented when his brother caught sight of one.

"Is that... is that a real giant?" Jules stared up at the lumbering humanoid halfway up the mountain from them.

"It's not looking, we go past now!" Bishop ushered him but the boy would not move from where he witnessed this stunning new thing. Hitch-hiking all over the back roads and gutters of Tamriel was one thing, experiencing a new country at his own pace was another.

The giant was scratching its back rather crudely with its club. It seemed so docile, emitting calm and a simple will of living its own life. Until it turned its head and stared at the two young Nords in return.

Jules backed up with small steps and tugged on the bottom of Bishop's shirt to keep him close and in front. "You're the one who never stops going on about how you hunted a mammoth before you left Skyrim. What do we do?"

"That was a runaway from a market in Hammerfell." Bishop groaned guiltily. "We left Skyrim well before-"

The giant had seemed to decide that they were far more interesting than its bonfire at the top of the slope and was now swaggering towards them very determinedly.

"BISHOP!"

Bishop instantly threw his arm around Jules's shoulder and swivelled them around. "Right, now we need to start walking. Now we walk a bit faster. Not too much, don't want to startle the big man... now we're out of sight. Good. We're behind a rock and-" The ground began vibrating with rapid stomps. "FUCKING RUN!"

He seriously considered making them both dive into the river but as they pelted along he realised there were too many rocks to be safe and the riverbank was still too exposed. The giant roared with fury at his curiosities fleeing him and Bishop pushed himself even harder. There was a stone tower in front of them, it formed a high bridge over the river and had multiple bandits curiously peering at the drama from a safe height.

"We can make it! Jules!" Bishop yelled over his shoulder. Usually he'd be the one hopelessly trying to catch up but this time Jules was falling behind with his face covered in a sheen of sickly sweat. In only a few strides the giant would be upon him. He must have realised this from Bishop's expression as he burst forwards with an extra sense of urgency.

Bishop still made it to the tower first and rattled the suddenly locked door handle in every way possible before hammering on it.

"Oh come on! We're one of you, you bastards!" He bellowed as Jules staggered to a halt beside him, unable to breathe properly.

As an answer, a few of the bandits began to shoot the giant with their feeble iron arrows. The giant went from roaring in protest and chasing to primal yelling and charging with fury at the tower.

"That just made it worse you fuckwits!" Bishop shouted at the now cowering bandits that were retreating to the other side of the bridge as they doubted the structural integrity of their tower. A few with balls and bows remained, though, continuously making it worse.

The giant's friends were now storming along behind it and Bishop realised that he and Jules were the only accessible targets on the ground. His head was frantically turning in every direction as he tried to look for a way out, supporting his brother all the while as Jules slumped against him.

"Right, we gotta run!" He said, only voicing the warning when he had already begun running with Jules down the slope.

"Bishop I can't keep this up-" Jules panted and fell from foot to foot as fast as he could, which wasn't enough.

Bishop bounded back and grabbed his bicep to try and support him to speed up. "You trust me don't you?" He winced as the ground they ran on began to vibrate once more. Another giant had decided to give chase.

"More than anything else right now!" Jules pointed out incredulously, somehow keeping his humour despite the stress he was under.

"Good." Bishop gulped and looked from side to side as he led them directly towards the edge of the road instead of turning left with it as it wound down the rocky mountainside. The trees coming out of it were tall and plenty, no giant would be able to get through them without slowing down to a near halt, or going the tiresome long way round. "We jump!" Bishop yelled as they were no more than ten paces away. They had no chance of stopping with their momentum now, something the giant realised and began sprinting as well.

"What?" Jules floundered as he tried to grasp what he meant, but Bishop wouldn't let him slow down. "That looks really steep. We just passed a waterfall, a really big one. I don't think this is a good ide- OH SHIT NO!" His last word dissolved into a scream as they both leapt three paces away from the edge. They tumbled into a freefall and all of their focus was on preventing as much damage to their bodies as possible. Most of the rocks were rounded but they protruded significantly and the loose earth beneath them only sped up their bumpy descent.

Their landing was worse than planned as even though Jules grabbed onto the rock shelf to hang from it and stop his momentum, Bishop was sent barrelling into him so they both hit it and were sent flying in the opposite direction down the drop. They both landed as well as possible, even though they'd have bruises they'd feel for days, and they rolled. But they rolled too far and careened straight past the crumbling road wall that could have stopped them and went straight into the river.

Jules came to a halt near the bank so could lift himself out of the water faster, but Bishop went straight into the deep end. He would have laughed as Bishop came up for air gulping like a fish but his chest and lungs were constricting agonisingly. Every time he tried to breathe, the water got in the way and made him choke, and to spit the water out he needed to breathe.

The current was pulling Bishop downstream but he dived against it and swam ashore as soon as he spotted Jules shaking and collapsing under his own wight.

With sopping wet boots that squelched with each step he ran over into the sodden dirt beside Jules. "You really don't like water, huh?" He remarked and pulled his brother up right so he could focus on getting his breath back.

Jules lurched forward on all fours to hack all of the river he'd swallowed out of his lungs. They were still in the shallows so Bishop expected the regurgitated water to disappear. Instead he tried not to notice how much of the water Jules coughed up was swirling with a thick red.

"Next time you want a bath, just walk." Jules groaned as he calmed and sat back on his knees to rub his face with wet hands.

"Who said I was the one who needed a bath?" Bishop snorted and salvaged their packs as he got to his feet.

Jules stretched and cracked his back with much wincing. "Oh gods, my ass. I hate you."

"Better than it being warmed on a spit over a giant's fire." Bishop retorted and tried to wring out the front of his shirt. "Well that's our scent gone. We'll tread through the water and make camp in the woods on the other side. _Before_ the giants get any ideas about walking around."

They both followed the river with much limping and teasing prods on each other's various cuts and grazes. Though Bishop only did it gently and as long as could be considered normal. Jules was already looking too pallid for any more duress.


	3. 3 - Thrice Banished

After sleepless nights and mornings spent salvaging half-dried clothes the brothers came to a crossroads. As far as they knew, they were now in Eastmarch. To the north would be chilling climates and hot springs they had never experienced before, but in the south of the hold they were in familiar grounds. Perhaps not with the layout but green grass and trees felt more like home to them than the orange and yellow of Whiterun's plains.

"Hey, come on we're almost there." Bishop said as he decided to go off-road prematurely to take a path into the mountains.

Jules had slumped on one of the crumbling stone walls lining the road. "How do you know?" His deeper voice echoed the weariness of the bags under his eyes. Combined with his unkempt stubble and grey pallor, he appeared to be twice his age.

"I asked for directions." Bishop retorted as he tested for the best footing up the steep path.

Jules blinked at him.

"I'm good at directions! Look, the witch had a map on her table. If I'm wrong, I'll carry you on my damn back. Deal?" He snapped and with a flourish of his hand gestured for Jules to go first.

With a groan, his brother had no choice but to continue onwards.

Carrying Jules on his back almost became a reality. To get to the bandits' cave they had to delve up into the mountains. It may only have been the lower tier but Bishop found he had to practically push Jules up the incline. The path to the hideout took a sharp U-turn and went down as steeply as it had been going up, resulting in them nearly barrel-rolling into each other.

The picturesque waterfall in the small cove beyond the foliage had them both slightly slack-jawed. The huge rock-face separating two holds was a myriad of water cascading and intertwining with deafening roars, but somehow this one was serene, though only foliage separated it from the road. Then they looked down the next turn in the path and saw the bloodied bodies on pikes outside of the entrance.

"Two mutilated corpses in a clearing with flowers, clear blue water and tweeting birds. They really tried to roughen this place up." Bishop remarked dryly and led the way to make their way through the opening in the rock.

Jules perked up as he shimmied between the bodies to follow. "Maybe they're attached to them. Like those skulls your father had on the caravan. We called them Eggory, Deadory, and Headory, remember? No? Maybe it was just me and the other kids..."

When they entered they were met with a stream and an earthy path. All was a natural faded brown cave that had hints of blue from the water and the natural light. Deeper down was lit by fire and Bishop's face became focused and taut as he considered what was going to happen.

"Blood." Jules mumbled as they crept along and indicated Bishop's sleeve.

"...What?" He whispered back with vacant eyes as his train of thought was entirely derailed.

"I think you brushed a body going in. Ah no, leave it! The red suits you already!"

Bishop's eyelids dropped and his jaw clenched. He was about to say something in return about spilling Jules's own blood when they realised they were at the fire, and no one was there. The fire had a spit over it, recently disturbed bedrolls swarmed around the heat and food scattered around.

Jules grabbed an apple and began to crunch on it, much to his brother's disdain.

"What? It's better than the soggy meat!" He protested and pointed to an opening with the apple. Now that they had turned a corner, the way to the main cavern was revealed and they both fell silent with how impressed they were. A stream turned into a waterfall, spilling into a flooded cavern that was too deep and to tall for them to measure. The main floor of it was a round segment of earth and rock formed around a huge central pillar that stretched from ceiling to floor. Two pathways connected it to other parts of the caves. One that was curtained by more waterfalls and the one leading to the entrance Bishop and Jules stood in. A wooden archway framed the way to it and Bishop beckoned him over to it as quietly as before.

They were doing well until they tried to shimmy past the hanging bone traps. The pointy bits of fifteen different weapons were aimed at their faces.

"This here is my kingdom, Nord. Why are you in it?" Said the ringleader. He was a lanky young man with ginger hair who was sneering and showing his cracked, stained teeth. The bandits around him all went along with what he said but to Bishop he was obviously nothing above third in command and revelling in the opportunity to show off some power.

"Alright little princess, calm it." Bishop remarked and was glad to see that the other bandits smirked right along with him. "The witch in the cabin sent us here, said she worked with you."

The bandits became tense and glanced to the ginger for the next move.

He glowered and tensed his sword arm even more so the tip of the haggard blade was hovering right in front of Bishop's nose."What did she tell you to say to us when you entered?"

The only sound coming from the cavern now was the waterfall. Everyone was basing their moves on what he said next. The anticipation was electrifying the air. More bandits were coming over to see what the fuss was about. One of them drew Bishop's gaze in particular. He wore a worn black cloak slightly too long for him with the ends in tatters and a chunk missing where his left foot was. He turned around and their mysterious figure turned out to be a blonde Imperial with countless self-inflicted scars all over his face, predominantly on the right side. Their mutual surprise was brief as Mark looked at Bishop and Jules with a burning hatred. Instead of inflicting fear, it rose in the Nord like a challenge and he snapped his attention back to the ginger bandit.

The question was still in the air and Jules was preparing himself to run as there was no way Bishop could get the right passcode.

He just shrugged. "Nothing."

The glib remark triggered them all to sigh and lower their weapons. It was right. "Oh alright then. Bloody 'ell, if she sends us anymore waifs we'll collapse in on ourselves." Muttered the ginger who stepped back to let them through.

Bishop didn't move. "What did you just call us?"

"Bishop... just let him take us to the bedrolls." Jules pleaded. There was no teasing or humour in his voice anymore. He was about to drop dead on his feet and they both knew it. They were tired, damp, and uncomfortable. He had every reason to give in for Jules's sake but then an all too familiar face barged in.

"He called you waifs, waif." Mark sneered right into his face. "I was here before you. Now you're going to toddle off to the waif quarters and never let me hear of you again."

For their identity to be revealed was the last thing he wanted, and the last thing Bishop wanted. It would upset the hierarchy Mark was aiming for and taint the brothers with a reputation they wanted to shake off, but the alternative enraged him. Mark would make sure they stayed in the quarters of new recruits, which were always the worst parts of a hide-out cramped with milk-drinking degenerates that the brothers had ten times more experience than combined. With a weakness already, Jules would perish in such a poorly cramped pit full of damp, body odour, infection and grime.

"No." Bishop shot back in Mark's face and turned to the ginger bandit. "Tell your chief that a Thrice-Banished wants to speak with him."

All of the bandits in earshot stopped in their tracks at the mention of the name. Some gasps echoed all around the cavern. Jules closed his eyes, his face was full of resignation at having to take up the same life they'd tried to escape. It killed Bishop to see his brother's disappointment but he steeled himself with the thought that it was for his own good.

"You're fucking kidding me!" The ginger bandit grinned. "If you're lying, it's your funeral. If you're not... I'M the one who let you in, remember. Don't forget that if he asks." He strode along the earthen bridge to lead them to the centre and then to the other passage in the cavern. All along the way they were stared at as their name passed among the bandits faster than they could move.

Bishop ran forward and tried to stop him halfway. "My brother's ill. Can't you take him to our quarters first?"

The bandit ignored him and smirked. "After you've proved who you are, Thrice-Banished. Isn't that what you wanted?"

There was nothing left that Bishop could do and he fell into step with a grimace on his face. He didn't dare look back at Jules. The guilt he was stabbing himself with was enough without seeing the defeat in his brother's almond eyes.

* * *

Through waterfalls they were taken and up ramps that circled around to the next level of the caves. In the middle of these there was an opening to an enticingly well-lit storage room with food aplenty. The warden was a chiselled Orc and instead of writing down the latest hauls into the stockroom's books, he was lazing back in his chair fondling a giggling and heavily pregnant girl in his lap. The Orc's appreciative rumbles and the girl's squeals combined loudly enough to rouse the man passed out on the small table nearest to the passers by, ale still in hand. He got up with rage at the sounds of infidelity and stormed over, hitting the girl before tackling all of them into a crate of sweetrolls where the argument continued.

Bishop's face contorted at the sickeningly familiar sight and he roughly pushed Jules onwards before his attention was caught by it.

Their guide rolled his eyes and kept walking. When they came to the balcony that overlooked the cistern he turned right and navigated them through a tight passage leading upwards again. The room they came out into was filled with collapsed rocks and across the end of it was a wide wood-and-rope bridge that led to yet another higher tier of the caves. Before Bishop could impatiently ask how many more rooms there were going to be, their ginger guide eagerly dived into a hole in the masonry that made up the right wall. It had been knocked in and on the other side was a bar and dining area that looked like they'd walked straight into a military fort. Despite the many seats and drinks there was only one man there. He was ducking behind the bar for some particular ale as he was approached.

"Sam! New blood for you." Said the bandit and slapped his hands on the bar with a grin.

Sam was a Nord who appeared to be shrewd in every sense but the physical. Long blond hair streaked with much silver fell just above his collarbone, his muscles were broad but his eyes fleeted around like a cornered wolf judging everything in sight and his prominent nose sniffed out any value to be found like a bloodhound. He only glanced at Bishop and Jules once before dismissing them.

"Throw them in the fucking pit already will you, Orfi? We don't need to interview them."

Orfi practically quivered with excitement. "Nah wait til you hear this. The big one says they're Thrice-Banished."

Sam stopped in his tracks and burst out laughing. "Hah! That's a new one, I'll give 'em that." He walked over to where they awkwardly stood near the opening and leered at Bishop. "So which one are you? Jack?"

He glowered in return, giving no quarter for doubt. "Bishop."

"Is that one of the bastards? How many there are always get confused in the stories. Rumour has it Torban's wench actually birthed a cat..."

"I'm the second son." Bishop strained. All of his effort was being spent on not punching Sam for the obvious looks he was giving Jules.

"Ahhh I understand. I'm a sixth son myself, they never give a shit after the first, do they?" Sam walked around with his chosen bottle lackadaisically and gave up the suspension of belief. "So how do I know that you are who you say you are? We all know the story, anyone could waltz up to me and demand a bigger share because they were a long lost offshoot of Torban's cock."

The insult flew over Bishop's head as to him it was a simple fact. Instead he leant back coolly and crossed his arms. "A witch sent us here, she knew my father and she called herself your grandmother. Don't dance around me, chief. We both know you wouldn't be talking to me if you didn't believe her."

Sam nodded and dipped the tip of his bottle at him. "True. In fact I knew Jack, I offered him a place here but the tight-ass thought he was better than us. You look like him."

"So I look like a corpse? I'm flattered." Bishop drawled flatly.

"Sorry to hear it." Said Sam with as much sincerity as if they spoke of a dead cony. "What happened to the bugger?"

"Our father killed him. So I killed our father."

Sam had just perched on a barstool when he almost laughed himself off it with a brash bark. "Hah! You certainly live up to your tales, that's for sure. Alright I can't deny it, having someone who can best Torban in my camp is a sight better than any of these snowbacks."

Bishop felt something wither within him as the deal was sealed but his eyes flashed. Not all his conditions were met. "And my brother? He needs shelter."

Sam shrugged and got up to leave as soon as he closed his mouth. "Send him up to the tower with the rest of the weak, he can-"

Bishop stormed up to him with gritted teeth. "I said he needs shelter. WHERE I can see him."

They were both panting in each other's face with steeled eyes rising up to the challenge like territorial bears. Until Orfi cleared his throat intrusively and directed their attention to the collapsed body behind them.

No second for thought was spared as instinct made Bishop sprint over and raise Jules onto his lap so he could check his breathing. When his brother's shaky respiration brushed his face he let out his own sigh of relief and checked his head for fever. He snapped his hand away immediately.

So absorbed was he that he didn't notice the two bandits easing up behind him.

"What's he got?" Sam murmured tentatively.

Bishop had to blink and remember where he was before he could answer. "I don't know. But it's not contagious, or we'd both be rotting in a ditch by now."

"Fine. Orfi, take him up the stairs. We've got a few beds all on the stone of whatever this place was. Right next to the pits and the kitchens. Entertainment and food. You happy?" Sam grumbled as Orfi hoisted Jules into his arms and petered towards the other side of the open rooms where the walls gave way to a large stone staircase, ten men wide.

The older brother nodded once in silence. All control was out of his hands but he couldn't resist as it was what he'd wanted.

Sam watched him inwardly struggle with himself and stuck out the tip of his tongue as he bit it thoughtfully. "Good, now I want to show you something."

He jogged up the stairs without looking back to check if Bishop followed. He didn't need to, it was the way his investment had been taken. Orfi was trying to catch his breath and almost collapsing on one of the beds as well when they made their way past him. Jules had been laid on the bed closest to the left wall of the large alcove at the top of the stairs. There was a cave-in with cobwebs and damp mushrooms aplenty nearby but there was some questionable salvaged furniture, candles and warm furs. Bishop couldn't find an immediate complaint so was forced to walk past Jules's sleeping face of discomfort in silence.

"You're going to get someone to look at him, right?" He said to Sam after they'd crossed a bridge into the next set of rooms.

"Sure, you can look at him yourself when you bring me back some coin." Sam snorted and darted ahead now that their destination was in sight. At the end of the cave structure he stopped and crouched slightly, holding his hand out and moving it in a big sweeping motion to indicate the large cavern before them. "Look at these pits and tell me what you see."

Bishop's first instinct was to sniff in repulse. The cavern's open space was filled with bodies of bandits and beasts that had not yet been cleared out. That space was blocked off by unclimbable wooden walls and could be entered only through a cage where the door was controlled from above. Nearer to Sam and Bishop was an entire enclosure of cages. Old and uneaten meat lay in some of them while others had less refined bodily flesh that he didn't look long at. Next to them was a narrow path jutting out from the cave wall with seats for spectators, and on the platform at the bottom of the slope to their right was a table and chests filled with gambling winnings, weapons and instruments to keep the animals in line. Chains seemed to be the most common, and they were rusted with something far more red than water.

"I see a damn lot of blood. Free blood. Do you ever go in there yourself or do you just pick the next wild animal that looks at you?" Bishop snarled.

"Pfft! You've been out in the woods too long." Sam scoffed but looked at him with pity. He looked back at his pits and it turned to pride. "I see profit. Betting is what people want to do and I let them. All without delving into some cave for the jarl begging for my throat to be torn out. It's why we are what we are, Bishop. Or has the Thrice-Banished forgotten what he is?" He grinned in anticipation but rather than rise to the challenge, Bishop growled.

"If I wanted to be a butcher I'd have gone to the markets. I'm not here to play games with your gambling, I'm here to support my brother and that's it."

Sam sighed and shook his head. The idealism was lost once more and he was forced to return to a more aggressive tone. "I don't give a shit. You think what you want. Call me Sam, call me Sammy. I don't care. You gave me your name. You didn't have to but you did, all for a higher pay grade. If you want your precious little half breed to be safe in here eating my food, you let me put you to use. Are we clear?"

Bishop's fingers shook inside of his fists but on the outside he smiled. Thinly. "Clear, Sammy."

Sam laughed under his breath, but this time it wasn't genuine. "Lucky for you, I'm out of beasts for the pits. There's a new camp set up in the west that's scaring off all our game. If you run you'll make the party going to pay them a little visit."

With that he was dismissed to his new routine. Though he barely had to turn a corner before he got slammed against a wall. A small cascade of water crashed through endlessly to a hole in the floor next to them so any struggles or discussion was drowned by it. Bishop's assaulter was in front of it so he couldn't see him clearly.

"I was here first." The bandit spat. Bishop couldn't tell if the specks hitting his face was the waterfall or spittle. "You knew and you still told him your name, you little bitch. You know... I can make you squeal, just like your precious Legion Bosmer did."

Bishop snorted and pushed against his restraint, diving to the left so he and his assaulter were forced to move away from the water and into clear sight. "Looking a little worse for wear, Mark. Was it a bumpy ride from the imperial city?"

Mark pressed him into the wall even harder as he gave him a hideous and chilling laugh. "They threw me into the Imperial Prisons after you rode off into the sunset. Rotted in that pit for months. You liked that hole in my cloak? Got it trying to escape the grating of the sewer pipes. Took a chunk out of my leg too. You ever had a skeever nibble at your feet while you crawl for your life?" His clipped and naturally refined Imperial voice had a hysterical peak to it.

Bishop rolled his eyes and looked around at the ceiling as his head grated against the cave wall. Mark's arm pressed relentlessly across his neck but it occurred to him that that was the only part of his body that had been restrained.

"Hell if I need to listen to this." Bishop snarled and gave him a right hook so hard that it split open the scar Mark had given himself at the events of Weye.

Mark staggered to the floor and his hand flew to the sheet of warm blood flowing from his cheek. Bishop had stalked to the start of the bridge by the time he'd straightened and cast aside all concern for his face. "Hey! You will listen. Or your brother dies in his sleep while you're out wherever you're running off to."

He halted before he could lift a foot to start crossing the wooden planks tied together by rope. Bishop turned around as slowly and reserved as he was able. Hatred and resentment shook in every increment of his movements.

Now that all of the attention had returned to him, Mark smiled easily."So Sam's given you better quarters than the rest of us, maybe a new title. So what? You don't profit from this, Bishop, not one coin. You send everything you get to me."

Bishop laughed and took on a tone of an adult tired of a child's rant. "And why would I do that?"

Mark's smile was all-too wide as he clarified. "Because these thickskulls are too thick to remember you're famous because the jarls of Skyrim want you dead for more than they'll make in their lives. Make this work for me or I cash in on that little bounty."

Bishop's dagger was out faster than the brief moments it took for him to close the gap between them. "Or I kill you, right now."

His response was to tut and rock back on his heels. "If you had it in you to kill me, you'd have done it in Weye."

Bishop had frozen as every counter he could think of was stopped by the culmination of them being harmful to Jules. Mark looked disparagingly at his outheld dagger and walked past the speechless young man with a smug shake of his head.

Although he could not throw them, he stared daggers at the Imperial bandit's back. He stormed past him in the kitchens without one look and only just managed to catch up with the bandit raid Sam had sent him on. Every killing blow he landed on their rivals was fueled by his imagination of Mark meeting his end in every way possible.

* * *

There was a small underpass in the fighting pits where a stream ran from to continue the small waterfall that fell through the ground above it. It was a claustrophobic space but near the top end of it was a chest that had been forgotten about and had nothing in it. By the time Jules regained consciousness it had become the weekly dumping ground for everything that Bishop earned on the raids and when the gang's spoils were divided. At the start of this he tried to fool Mark by only putting in half of what he got. He put it all in when he found three arrows embedded into the wooden post above his sleeping brother's head the next morning.

They'd been at Lost Knife for three weeks when the witch who sent them there showed up. No one knew if she was actually anyone's grandmother but they all called her that and she was too intimidating for anyone to question her on it. Jules became her pet project and there was rarely a time where Bishop was between raids and she wasn't dominating Jules's bedside, filling him with her latest remedies and concoctions. She began sending the bandits out to scavenge for uncommon ingredients as all of her attempts to cure the boy failed. But, being thugs in general, they usually returned with torn and crumpled samples of the most common weeds and she resorted to searching for them herself.

It was during one of these outings of hers that Bishop found he had the chance to speak to his brother alone since they first arrived. On one of his better days, Jules had made it up to the highest tier of the cavern where a natural platform jutted out and combined with wooden scaffolding to make it the best lookout of all the cavern's entrances. A wide river trickled over the rocks through the entrance to the lookout and fell to form the cavern's tallest waterfall, but they were so high above the crash where it met the pool of the cistern that the sound was only calming.

With his legs crossed and pulled to his chest, Jules was sat in a bedroll that was half-cast aside as he tried to appear like he didn't need it. Bishop was sat on the one to his left, closest to the waterfall, and a firepit was between them. Neither brother had said a thing since they were left alone.

"So you have a thing for heights now?" Bishop remarked bluntly, breaking the silence in the only way he knew how.

"You scared of them?" Jules teased right back.

He grinned and ducked his head at that. "More scared of you hiccupping over the edge."

"There's _water_ at the bottom." Jules drawled condescendingly. "Kinda deep too."

"Oh I know that, but the last time you touched water you attempted drowning." Bishop snorted. Jules shuffled awkwardly at the reminder of his last moment of weakness and Bishop tried a kind smile when he realised he may have gone too far. "Your voice... it's getting weird now. It's good, it's a man's voice but..." He broke off laughing breathily in disbelief. "Never thought I'd have to keep looking at you to check you didn't get replaced with a woodsman."

"Ha. Ha." Jules rolled his eyes as expected but did a little shuffle of pride too. "It must have settled while I was unconscious. How long was I out?"

"Three weeks." Bishop informed him casually and began fumbling around in the shadows for any ale bottles the bandits usually left behind.

"Damn... I guess we've got some savings to start from now though, right?"

He stopped searching for a bottle. "Yeah..."

They sat in still silence and watched the continuous run of the three other waterfalls in the cavern, neither wanting to move away or knowing what to speak about next.

"Is it true, what they keep saying about mother and your father being banished?" Jules asked in an outburst like he'd been keeping it in from the start.

Bishop propped his arms on his raised knees and frowned at his dangling hands with a nod. "Me, Jack and Aces too."

"You mean we haven't been to the cities for a reason other than you being an antisocial git?" Jules tried to cover his burning curiosity with the jibe but it was a poor attempt as he scrutinised Bishop's every move with wide eyes.

Shame burned into Bishop's expression. Being revelled for their family's wrongdoings was one thing, recounting it was another. "I don't want to talk about it." He grumbled.

A group of three bandits had accumulated at the wooden platform built over the top of the waterfall, just before it fell. The most vocal of them had been listening in from where he leant on the flimsy plank railing.

"Aww come on Bishop! You can't leave it like that!" He cajoled and bore a grin at Jules, he was missing a few teeth. "Want to hear how we know it, kid?"

Jules raised an eyebrow and settled into a cocky sitting position with one knee raised and his forearm lazily propped on it. "Start talking and I might be interested enough to not push you off the edge for calling me kid."

"A challenge then?" The bandit chuckled. "You're on. They say it all started off in Riverwood-"

"No, it was in the city. Solitude!" Burst in his female friend whose hide bodice was far too low and loosely tied to be discreet. Her breasts were unrestrained and hung behind the stiff hide, the edges only just covering her nipples.

Bishop had moved to stand against the cave wall and skulk in the shadows like he didn't care but he couldn't resist leaning forwards to cast his eyes on the side-view he had of her bare chest. To cover up his intentions, he scoffed at them all.

"It was Riften, you dipshits."

The girl then winked and smiled at him coyly as she elaborately fondled with the string that was supposed to be keeping her skimpy bodice together. Bishop watched for a moment before shaking his head in disgust at how easy she was and pulled back to the wall.

"Fine." The vocal bandit grunted and returned his attention to Jules. "Well, in Riften, your ma was a perfect little priestess in training about to be wed in holy matrimony to some snub-nosed noble."

His friend shook his head and held a finger out to indicate the clever flaw he'd found in the conversation. "Priestessess can't marry."

"Priestessess isn't a word." The girl snorted.

"Will you SHUT UP! Right, well that was a comfortable and boring life headed her way when this rugged man too wild for the Thieves Guild came along. He got the stunner of a young girl into banditry, she turned out to be pretty good at it. As he was so rugged he got her to get her tits out easy enough, they started having babies, she ruined her reputation and yeah. She and Torban got married at the temple because they took it hostage, now _that's_ how I wanna marry."

"Gods, Rik, you're so romantic." Muttered the girl and she pointedly moved closer to their dumber friend.

"What? It's what happened!" He protested and looked at Bishop for support. Naturally, he didn't respond and stayed staring at the cavern below them, but he didn't deny it either.

Rik looked sideways in the awkward silence and made a mental note not to bother the Nord again. Especially as Bishop subtly made the blade of his dagger very visible all of a sudden.

"So, yeah. They got so good at being bandits that they got banished from the Rift. They went to Falkreath, wiped the place clean and the same thing happened. Whiterun just tried to kill them. But then!" Rik had made the list of achievements sound so dull but now he cackled with his eagerness. "Then they went big. They only went to the _bloody capital_ didn't they? And they gave it what was coming to it! I heard Torban even slept right under their noses in the Blue Palace at one point, with his babies and all. Anyway, Torban and Rina were bleeding the fat Solitude pigs too dry for them not to notice. But it wasn't the guards who threw them out, not even the guard captain. Oh no, they couldn't handle your parents." Rik paused and held his hands out as if to hold back an imaginary audience. His voice then rose so loud that the entire cavern was his audience. "It was the fucking High King who had to exile them from Skyrim to be rid of them! So there you go, banished three times and made into legends. You wear that name with pride kid, they bloody earned it."

Instead of reacting to being called "kid" a second time, Jules's interest faltered as the memories of Torban's abuse towards him returned and his eyes cast down. Bishop's attention was instantly caught and his head flicked around to snarl at Rik. He finished the story very quickly after that.

"Course after that your ma laid with someone from each country in Tamriel, and Torban taught them foreign bandits a few things, but we've never heard much about that."

Before Jules could say anything, Bishop took charge and emerged to cross his arms at them, feet squarely spread apart as he stood between the bandits and his brother. "And you never will. You know more about my life than I do. Congratulations. Now piss off."

With disgruntled mutters they all walked upstream to return to the lower levels. The girl wasn't so quick to leave, however, and she only moved when she was certain she'd caught Bishop's eye.

"A Thrice-Banished is a rare breed nowadays, since you all keep killing each other. You're a real catch, a conquest even..." She purred and moved slowly to stop a single step away from him and breathed huskily. "But who will be the real conquest tonight? You?" She smiled in silent scorn and looked up from beneath her eyelashes as she stepped back. "Or me?" She bit her lip and broke into a jagged-toothed grin. When she was sure she had his complete attention she paced away with much swaying of her hips. As soon as she was beyond Bishop's line of sight he heard a faint rip and her bodice flew back through the air. It went over the waterfall and fell into the cistern along with the raucous laughter of her bandit friends as they grabbed her naked torso.

Bishop's hackles rose at the thought of someone who had given him her attentions being so casually taken by others. He was toying with the idea of going after her when he heard Jules speak behind him.

"Maybe we shouldn't have come here." He mumbled with the voice of a man, the facial scruff of a man, but he was still just a boy, troubled and staring vacantly at nothing. "Torban always went on about the King Torygg thing but if so many people know who we are..."

"No. This is where... They can't touch us here. We don't need their name and we don't need the cities." Bishop stated fervently and they both avoided voicing the question of why they needed to be here in the first place. "Look, how're you feeling?"

"Better. I'm moving around probably sooner than she wants me to but I can't stay down there for so long. Bandits really stink, you know that? At least with the others we were out in the open."

Bishop chortled to himself. "Nah, you don't remember Hammerfell. I would have taken sulphur pits over the smell of the sweat." He shuddered and was about to sit back down when they noticed the bandits congregating into a hunting party at the entrance below. "I should go with them. I'll see you soon, alright?"

Jules grunted. "You mean when that witch is not smothering me with her sleeping potions which is, what, never?"

"Hey, at least her prodding you around is doing something. We're making money and you're recovering. We'll be out of here in no time." Bishop turned around quickly to hide his lie and started going down the rail-less path that curved down the cave wall to the entrance where he could jump down without injury. However, this left him in earshot of all of Jules's jibes.

"You're not going to jump off the edge? Awww come on, entertain your poorly little brother! You have a duty!" He hollered from his bedroll and smirked as Bishop got to the narrowest part of the path. "Woah watch your step there! If you fall, your perfect hair will get wet!" The shouting reduced him to a coughing fit but he was thankful to see that Bishop didn't hear it, as all he was doing in response was raising a very prominent middle finger.


	4. 4 - A Lone Wolf

During the hunting and the raids, Bishop took every opportunity to "accidentally" lose the bandits he was grouped with and complete the mission alone. He usually succeeded, but it brought only jealousy and spurned feelings from the others.

Jules was able to join them when he was allowed to leave for the fresh air he desperately needed. On all the raids on which he was able to partner with Bishop they prospered more than any other. Or he found them ways to the real loot, but after a few months his elusive illness put a stop to that.

Rain was common when clouds drifted over from the eastern provinces and the sea of ghosts. Usually the bandits would go out into the sludge and the deluge and take advantage of those caught out by it, but one weekend they were forced to stay in as the small lake outside had flooded the cave entrance. The pits were being used for entertainment but Bishop stayed in the cistern where, as Jules so often reminded him, it smelled the least. He was practicing his archery by shooting the wooden supports of the entrance, all the way from the cavern's central platform, when he spotted the old witch walking out of the stockroom. It was rare for him to see her at all, especially when not at Jules's bedside, but since the stockroom had been filled with the screams of a newborn she was more obliged to visit.

Bishop took the opportunity to confront her once and for all.

"Hey! Hey!" He yelled as she walked right past his attempts to run up and catch her attention. "What are you doing to Jules? You told me he was getting better!"

She scoffed over her shoulder and didn't slow her pace to pick up a basket of ingredients and a large weighted sack from the boxes stored below the platform. "I told you nothing."

"Well it sure looked that way." Bishop ran his hand through his hair and fumed on the spot until- "For fuck's sake, he's coughing up blood now!"

The old woman chewed her lip and squinted as she walked towards the pass leading out of the cavern. "Your brother has ears everywhere. Come, use those muscles and take this," she threw the large sack to his feet, "help an old woman up the falls to complete her duties."

Bishop crossed his arms and came to an abrupt halt behind her. "Why? He can't hear us, he's asleep in a whole different part of this damned cave."

She laughed and kept walking. "If you don't think he's got people reporting what he isn't there to see, then you don't know your brother."

Her point was valid and after he got over the fact that she'd anticipated his brother better than he, Bishop picked up the sack and followed. 

* * *

The rain had made the mountain terrain particularly treacherous and Bishop was not looking forward to scaling up it when the woman avoided the path up it altogether and turned onto the road. He didn't want to be the one to initiate a conversation so despite the unexpected direction they followed the very open and very wide road east for hours. The sun was beginning to droop behind them when they went over the bridge in front of what Bishop was sure was the last waterfall before the long road to Windhelm.

Unable to stay silent any longer, he impertinently pointed out: "This is going around the falls, not up them."

She did not respond well to the disturbance in her mental preoccupation and snapped at him. "Patience! By the Divines, what is it with you young ones?"

They did indeed turn onto the road leading to Windhelm but before they could make any progress along the way she abruptly twisted and began making her way up an inconspicuous dirt path between the rocks.

"Where are you taking me, witch?" Bishop grumbled, struggling up the slippery mud and almost losing his footing several times before they found footing on a sturdier well-trodden road up the mountains. The setting sun was now blinding his eyes directly and he could not look where he was going.

The witch didn't look away from her path once. "Watch your tongue. It might do you well to remember who is responsible for your brother's continued life."

Bishop scowled at the second threat on Jules's well-being. He inwardly refused to speak to her again on their journey but it didn't affect her in the slightest. Their destination had been reached in the form of a bridge that arched before the highest waterfall on the great incline separating the Rift and Eastmarch. The Rift's signature gold and red aspen trees lined their way and the autumn leaves fell onto the road as well as the forest floor. A single imposing black wolf perched on the rocks opposite the bridge opening, almost as big as a cave bear. As he approached it stared at him with yellow eyes a similar shade to his own. When Bishop was close enough the huge wolf showed it was actually three small pups lying together that jumped down and scampered around the old woman before darting across the bridge.

"You keep wolves up here?"

A crumbling but still-standing tower loomed on the horizon of their sights as they followed the wolves over the bridge. They had disappeared up into the foliage surrounding the path up the hill to the tower, leaving only idle bandits to look curiously at the new arrivals.

"We try. Bloody things keep running off into the woods. We've tried keeping them in the tower but they only get stir crazy and try to eat whoever's guarding them. All except one." Grumbled the witch.

As they walked off the bridge and into a side-clearing with a fire, benches, and an armoury, a lone pup unlike the others burst out from between the cages. It was a blur of russet brown fur dotted throughout a creamy undercoat and a dark grey overcoat, its predatory amber eyes fixed on Bishop's sagging bag. Bishop held it out of reach behind his back and held out to stop the wolf with his right hand. The pup obligingly leapt for the hand and was left limply dangling with adorable innocently wide eyes. It took a moment to register but the Nord roared in pain from the bite and shook the scraggly thing off.

"And there's the exception. Karnwyr! Get out of here you bloody runt!" The old woman barked, making the playful enthusiasm die in the small wolf's eyes. It unlatched its jaws, falling to the ground with a muted thump. Bishop winced, shook his bleeding hand and watched it obstinately skulk away with its head held high.

"Let me look at that hand." She sighed and delved deep for the healing potions in her basket.

"I'll live, he barely scratched me."

She said nothing as they both watched the blood drip from his hand and onto the dirt. "Don't be a fool, I'm a healer." She muttered when he tried to pull back. "I've seen that mutt tear off limbs." It took everything she had not to roll her eyes as he didn't resist when she reached for his hand. The wound was long like a U but he didn't get a chance to see how long it was before she wrapped a bandage soaked in healing potion over it.

"Where are we?" He asked as she tied it off.

"They call it Nilheim. Sammy puts all of the people he can't be bothered with up here. Mostly the troublemakers and the ill who can still be good lookouts. It's also where he put his next experiment. Pit dogs. They found their bitch not long after you came. She wouldn't go into the cave so I had to deliver her cubs up here. Bloody bad on my hips."

"She died?"

"They're all going to die, they're for the pits." She snorted. "But with her, it was a miracle she survived long enough to keep them all going for a few days. Without a mate to hunt for her she was starved to the bone."

"So instead of putting yourselves in that arena, you take any life you want and put it in a cage to fight for you," Bishop's lip curled as he glowered at her.

"What else are we gonna do? Start an orphanage for all the bastards of the wilds? Bandits aren't nice, sweetheart. Nothing is."

"I came up here for Jules, not a lesson on life." He said as he dumped the bag of meat on the ground. The snouts of black wolf cubs poked out from the underbrush immediately.

She sighed and turned her back on him to perform her chores. "What makes you think I brought you up here to talk about him? I needed help carrying the meat."

The cubs' curious appetites were sated when she threw three slabs of raw flesh to them near the cages. They leapt on it like starved hounds and in the distraction she bundled the rest into the arms of a nearby bandit who took it up to the tower for storage.

Bishop's temper snapped and he let out a growl as he purposefully got in her way. "We've done all you wanted! Can't you just give him a potion now or-" He wasn't ready for how quickly she turned to face him.

"A potion? To cure what? He has no disease and no wounds."

Bishop stepped back in horror and confusion. "But you said Rattles..."

"I had to say something didn't I?" Her tone was harsh and condescending but her sigh was gentle and weary. "No potion can cure the fact that your brother shouldn't exist. The mother always passes on the final race of the child, yes? But the father's blood provides everything else. The races of cat and human were never meant to join. Conception should have been impossible!" She turned back to her tasks at the table and muttered: "Your family could rewrite the history books."

"Will he live?" He said. Though his voice was steady and controlled, his complexion was going paler by the second.

"That is up to you. Or maybe he could stay here. He seems to be fitting in well, I could watch him as he grows older." Said the witch, liking her own idea more and more by the minute. She turned around, rested her rump on the table and crossed her arms. "Look at you, you're a lone wolf. You've been wanting him off your back since the start. Wouldn't you like to rule the woods alone or whatever it is you do?"

Bishop paused as he tried to register that she'd asked a question, but his answer was absolute. "No. It's both of us or nothing."

The woman frowned at him in silence but he glared back unflinchingly for as long as she did at him.

"Really? Just like that? No second thoughts or moments of hesitation? Huh, maybe you're what he needs after all."

Bishop shook his head and smiled at her ignorance. "We need each other. We're brothers." With his final word he wandered over to the edge and the magnificent view of Skyrim.

Only, it was not the horizon that caught his attention but the amount of ant-like militia assembling around the entrance to Lost Knife. "We're not expecting visitors, are we?"

The witch rushed over with three other bandits and gasped at the sight. The main road and the path down from the mountain to the west were crawling with bandits, all with slightly different traits only she could recognise as she pointed them out.

"That's Lukil's group. Sammy's been going up against them a lot lately, had your brother doing the books... that's Barvak's group, Diorn's, Andal-Ma's... shit, it's all of them."

"All of who?" Bishop demanded.

"All who bloody hate him!" She barked and twisted around to yell at the bandits who'd just emerged out of the tower's upper entrance to look agape at the sight far below. "Some lookouts you are! Pack everything worth gold, now!"

He hadn't noticed how many people were actually around them before they burst into action and he instantly lost sight of the witch.

Bishop was startled so much at her words that he almost toppled over the side of the small bridge to the tower as he chased after her. "Woah woah woah, you're leaving?!"

She momentarily stopped in her furious pace to growl and close her eyes in resignation. "We cannot get to them in time. They have no way out and every one of those men wants to burn us alive. The best thing we can do is scatter, before they come for us!"

Bishop shook his head with tight lips and an even tighter jaw as he backed away from her. "There's no way I'm leaving Jules."

"Wouldn't your brother want you to live?!" She exclaimed and gestured erratically at the futility of a promising young bandit about to throw away his life. "Don't you remember how long it took us to get up here? Fucking hours!"

Bishop looked to the west where the lake behind them flowed into the waterfalls that crashed hundreds of feet down a steep mountainous incline. He smirked. "That's because you went up the slow way."

Before she could answer he completely bypassed the bridge and tentatively skidded down the dark and sandy riverbank to tread the water as fast as possible waist-deep. Six wolf cubs perked up at the fascinating fast-moving man breaking away from the main hubbub who smelt like their food. They all sped past the witch and dove over and under the bridge to follow him, but only four made it across the river with him.

Having wolves at his heel just made him run faster as he skidded down usually impassable inclines and sprinted at the bottom to the next ones. He went directly west across another river to the fringe of Ivarstead but then it was a sharp turn north and scaling down the steepest mountainside he'd come across.

Two of the cubs had given up chase at the many rocks of the second river and only two were left, a brawny black cub who had the speed to keep up with him due to his developed muscles, and the gangly runt. The straights and hills that had to be sprinted over were gone though and Bishop's dangerous sliding down rocks and earth required acute agility and reflexes. The black wolf was left behind within two levels of the mountain path they were skipping. Bishop actually turned around as he caught his breath after suffering many scrapes from a badly-timed jump, but he saw no more wolves behind him. He turned back around and found the russet brown cub who'd bitten his hand had leapt down to the last level and was batting its black-tipped tail on the rocks as it waited for him.

He slid down and observed the animal from the other side of the path. The sun was shining its last rays and he could barely see if his hand was going to be mauled again if he ran past. Lost Knife was so close now and he looked at the foliage to their right with tortured restraint.

"She called you Karnwyr, right?" He said as if small talk would breach the gap.

The wolf said nothing of course and its amber eyes blinked back out of the shadows.

Faint clashing of battle was coming from the direction of the cave entrance. All of Bishop's attention was taken by it and he made the snap decision to barge past the wolf no matter what it thought of that. He never saw the two rival bandits who had been waiting for him to move and launched at his back. Karnwyr let out a howl of warning and Bishop span around with arms raised, thinking that he was the target. What he saw was the blood of his attackers' ripped throats spilling out beneath them as the tawny wolf cub stood on them and looked up at him with savage pride.

"Shit... do you think you could do that again?" He laughed and ruffled the wild animal's head without thinking. Karnwyr closed his eyes smugly and leant into the appraisal, but Bishop was moving on quickly. "If you're gonna insist on following me, you'll have to," he muttered grimly.

Man and wolf were in full sight of the cave now. Everything was dark in the night except for the water that glistened with the light reflecting from the entrance. The light of wildfires that competed with screams and metal on metal to be the loudest sound coming out of Lost Knife. With wide eyes and a determined resolve, Bishop dove in without a second thought. The same went for the wolf cub at his heels with blood dripping from his canines already.

* * *

The entryway was hard enough to get through already as it had every flammable object blocking the path and spreading the flames everywhere possible. They stuck to the stream as the walkway was completely blocked off, but at the end of it Bishop was faced with the full reality of the battle. Five bandits were present and even though they were united against one group alone, they still fought each other as they had no way of telling the difference. The main islands and paths were fraught with bloodthirsty massacre and would require a leap of faith to get to, possibly ending in him cracking his head as he missed, but it was the quickest way. The other option was to dive hundreds of feet into the water flaming with oil spills and swim to the halfway point of the main island with his fighting ability being impaired by water.

He chose to jump. By some miracle he landed on just enough of the edge to keep his bearings and get to his feet before he was attacked. Not once did he think Karnwyr would follow him with either option but he felt a soft thump against his leg and looked down to see that the wolf had leapt with him.

With snarls from both parties they ran into the fray, Bishop ducking out of the way of a bandit toppling over the edge and Karnwyr jumping over him. As their second obstacle was taken care of by Bishop's dagger to his gut and Karnwyr's fangs to his sword arm, the young man took the brief opportunity to look up. Jules wasn't at his usual hangout at the highest point of the cavern so they ran on through to the rest of the caves, and the rest of the bandits.

They went without pause even as they were forced to step over the bodies of a newborn baby, its mother and her Orc lover. None of the fighters were paying them much attention until Bishop bellowed Jules's name and made a beeline for the balcony that looked out through a waterfall. Jules had appeared up on the highest ridge of the cavern and was slowly backing away from bandits who were toying with him like savage jackals before they killed. Bishop was so tense at him being seconds away from leaning too much on the flimsy railing and falling to his death that he didn't notice Karnwyr saving his life twice behind him.

"Just stay there, I'll get to you!" Bishop shouted over the roars of the waterfalls, raging fires and clamors of battle in vain but it didn't dissuade him. He beckoned the exerted wolf cub into the crevice that led to the next level and they crept into the darkness.

The kitchens were a slaughterhouse. Bodies were strewn, collapsing to the floor as the living slaughtered each other above them and trampled all over their fallen brothers and enemies alike. Bishop and Karnwyr were able to run through with little resistance but not without having to trample on the dead and not without attention. Their ascent up the stairs was observed by a man cutting his face after winning a prolonged fight and he soon stalked after them, taking the steps three at a time.

They barely had to turn a corner before Bishop slammed against the wall before the bridge. A broad hand not afraid to hold back its strength clawed around his throat, dripping with the blood of others. He rolled his eyes in the brief moments before his head was cracked against solid rock and he grunted in pain.

"After all that gold, you still can't say 'hello' to me, Mark?" He snorted and spluttered at the asphyxiation. It was getting worse until he saw Karnwyr leaping with his jaws wide open behind Mark's shoulder and tried to wince back and shrink down the wall so he wouldn't be caught in the bite.

Unfortunately Mark anticipated the attack from Bishop's reaction and span around just in time to punch Karnwyr aside in midair. The cub was quick to get back on its feet and launch at Mark again, but the grown Imperial caught him and they went down onto the bridge in a tussle. Karnwyr got his jaws around his face only once despite his relentless attempts but it left a severe gash. It ended with Mark kicking him over the rope railing to the blanketing darkness below.

He panted and turned back to where his original target hadn't moved due to watching the scuffle so intensely. "So the Nord has a pet now?" He sneered to Bishop.

"He's not a pet." Bishop growled. He took a deep breath, looked at the spot where Karnwyr had been thrown and shrugged as dismissively as he could. "He's a tag-along."

His ploy had been to get Mark off-guard but as soon as the bandit noticed Bishop's hand moving towards his knife he burst forward with renewed vigour to slam Bishop against the wall yet again. This time pinning both of his hands above his head as well.

"Ah ah ah! You're not getting away with that again."

Bishop spat out blood and smirked. "Well, Mark. I never knew you liked me in this way!"

"You ruined my life and now the little deal we have is about to go tits up. They have your brother, they have Sam. It's over. I just want to see your end for myself so don't think of getting away. I know all your tricks, Thrice-Banished."

There was no way out of this one, he was too dazed to act on anything but Mark had his every solution blocked.

Unless a wild animal was enraged at being thrown off a bridge and wanted revenge. Unless that said wild animal was sprinting up behind Mark right now, its jaws frothing as it prepared for a killing bite.

"Yeah? I got a new one." Bishop grinned and yanked himself away just as Karnwyr leapt and made a screaming Mark fall in the opposite direction.

The Imperial's body shook in agony as he pathetically failed to get the wolf cub off of his chest and away from his face. Bishop only stepped in when Karnwyr started to go for his throat. The wolf growled at being denied a kill but went to his new friend's side when summoned, much to Bishop's surprise.

"Aww, was that for how I killed your special Danton?" Mark simpered up at Bishop when he approached. His intentionally scarred face was now a sea of ragged red and Bishop was glad for the cave's poor lighting.

He pulled back and delivered a shattering long-held-back punch to the partially intact side of Mark's face. "No. That was for threatening my brother." He punched him again, making globules of blood fly through the air. While Mark was still conscious he pulled him up by the collar and had the satisfaction of seeing fear in his eyes. Then he stabbed him in the heart. "And that... was for kicking my wolf."

He let the limp body fall from his fists in disgust. Karnwyr whimpered at his wasted kill and Bishop regarded his newly asserted alliance with the animal as he wiped his hands clean on his scratchy tunic.

"You want more?" He cocked a brow at the wolf cub. "Keep following me. It never stops." He snarled beneath his breath and stormed into the darkness to his brother. 

* * *

The pits were between Bishop and Karnwyr's path to Jules, as were over a dozen bandits and the leader of Lost Knife himself. They stayed quiet as everyone was creeping around and jumping at every shadow. The battle fever had not yet spread to this part of the caves.

"Oh Sammy Sammy Sammy! Come on you little oathbreaker, where are you?" A bandit catcalled and whistled through the oddly calm chamber as he led his gang down the torchlit slope and through the array of cages.

When he got impatient and too angry to be unsettled, he loaded his modified crossbow and unleashed several deadly bolts at random throughout the cages with deafening clangs. "Yeah you like that? Got it from some friends over in the Dawnguard. Remember that concept, Sammy? Friends?"

Bishop used the cover of the next bolt barrage to jump down into the shadows of the pit. His foot skidded on the wet rocks of the stream and landed awkwardly with much cursing of his ancestors, especially when Karnwyr landed on his back, but he couldn't stop now. He had until Sam was killed to reach Jules before the bandits moved in the same direction.

By pure chance one of the next bolts hit Sam in the pits and the rival bandits ran to the source of his voice with glee. The bandit with the crossbow clambered on top of the cage forming the entrance to get the best shooting angle.

"Of course I killed them to get this but eh, we were friends til then. Much like us right now."

When they got through the gate Bishop winced at how loudly it creaked and dared to look back. He was just in time to watch Sam's death. With all credit to him, it took countless bolts and the entire gang of rival bandits to bring down the silver-streaked blond Nord. One of the bandits looked up and he slammed the gate shut, span around and sprinted down the stream. His time was up.

Going down a stream that was more slippery rocks than coursing water was required to get there. On his own it had been a path very easy to sneak down as scent and sound was overridden by the water. But with a young animal who was growing more and more enthusiastic with each pool of water he loudly splashed in, it was turning out to be the opposite. Bishop had to pull Karnwyr into the side path by the scruff of his neck when they reached the end of it, as he was dangerously close to giving them away or slipping under the wooden platform and plunging over the edge of the waterfall. Karnwyr immediately attacked Bishop for ruining his fun, but his young jaws couldn't gnaw through Bishop's rough chainmail shirt. Before any alternate tactics were thought of, they found their attentions grabbed by something else.

"Heard he was half-race. The weakling shouldn't have been able to hold on for this long."

Four bandits leered around the edge of the ridge on the far right, opposite from where Bishop and Karnwyr scuffled. All were men and all were Nords armoured with stiff hide and rusted iron, except for the shorter Redguard who spoke next and poked out his foot to tap the edge of the rock.

"He won't be holding on when I stand on his little pink fingers."

Karnwyr crouched back as he prepared to charge at them but he was held back. Bishop held a hand on the back of his neck until he calmed to a low growl. He couldn't see Jules yet and he wanted to let the bandits continue talking as he crept up behind them. Karnwyr followed his lead and slunk along the wooden platform.

Another Nord flinched back in disgust when he saw the fingers his friend's foot hovered over. "Is that hair? Talos's beard, who grows hair on their fingers?"

"A cat." Their weathered-faced comrade sneered and crouched down. "Guess you didn't here up in Skyrim but the first Thrice-Banished bastard was a cat. Think we found him."

Bishop cursed silently. He couldn't get any closer to them without leaving the shadows, and he still could not see Jules. Attacking the many burly men with only a wolf cub at his side was appearing to be his only option when he realised he had never met these men. They did not know him and would only see a fellow bandit if he approached. So he stood as smoothly as he could without drawing attention.

"Do cats land on their feet as they hit water, too?" The Redguard pondered and went to test his theory when a new presence walked up to his side.

"Nah, they'd just drown. Limbs flailing pathetically and all." Bishop laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. He could see Jules now. The boy was hanging onto the edge of the rock's slope by his fingertips. His face was red with the effort but he had just enough energy to look at Bishop in bewilderment like his brother had grown a second head.

"But men in iron? They sink." Bishop smiled as he shoved the Redguard over the edge and kicked the nearest Nord over too before he could react. Two remained to instigate battle but Bishop knew the ridges of the rock well, they did not. One tripped to his death in his eagerness to reach his friends' murderer and the last didn't have much of a fight before Karnwyr barged into his legs. He staggered back messily though, flailing everywhere to get a grip on solid ground. It was in vain but he fell exactly where Jules was hanging and Bishop instantly dove on his stomach to reach him.

Jules was still there but as hard as Bishop tried, his arm could not reach him without sliding down as well. Blood was leaking out from beneath the boy's weakening fingers and tears fell from the agony it brought him.

"Jules, dammit, reach higher!" Bishop growled out strenuously, even though he knew that there was no way that his brother could move and still hold on.

Raw fear flashed in both of their eyes as Jules slipped and only just managed to keep a hold on the rock that tore his skin. The great unknown of death and the huge drop behind him was too much pressure for him to do anything and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly so that Bishop couldn't see his failure. Then something warm and wet began nudging at his fingers and he looked up in anger. A russet brown wolf cub was staying upright on the slope only by his claws so that he could try to dislodge Jules.

"Your new friend is trying to push me off!" Jules snapped exasperatedly at Bishop who was looking just as bewildered.

But the older brother did nothing to discourage his wolf. Instead, he looked at him like he was the new genius of the 4th era. Even if they could somehow pull Jules up, an entire cave of warring bandits awaited them and were headed this way. Below was only water.

"The wolf's right. We can't go back, there's too many. It's time to learn to swim, brother."

"If you were going to betray me, why'd you bother coming back in the first place?" Jules teased exasperatedly, all the while blinking rapidly to see through his pain-induced tears.

"We go down together or not at all. You got that?" Bishop glared until Jules nodded at him. "I'm going to grab you. You've got to hold on!"

"What else am I gonna do?!" Jules cried just as his arms reached their limit and made his hands weaken for the briefest moment. It was all he needed to start falling.

"Shit!" Bishop was forced to cast aside all thoughts of preparing himself and propelled himself after Jules. He grabbed hold of Karnwyr's tail too and with a yelp the wolf was forced to the fate of the brothers. As promised, Bishop grabbed Jules during the fall down but because of that they had no time to prepare for entry. Bishop slapped into the water so hard on his side that he was almost knocked senseless. He could barely register what Jules was saying to him as they both somehow dragged each other ashore despite their weak muscles. Karnwyr was awaiting them, looking extremely unimpressed with dripping fur that hung down in straight and sodden clumps. But he helped regardless, walking on the outside of them to make sure their feet didn't stagger off the path up as they climbed.

When the roaring flames of the walkways burst through Bishop's muffled senses, he began to understand what his brother was yelling. "The only way out is on fire! We need to hide and wait it out!"

Bishop looked at the tantalizingly close exit and chuckled while shaking his head. "Like scared prey waiting to be burnt alive? No. We're soaking wet, we can make it." He then gave Jules no choice but to amble towards the inferno with him.

"What is it with you and jumping lately?" Jules exclaimed in a brief return to his shrill boyish voice.

"I told you living inside somewhere was a bad idea!" Bishop grinned and their amble turned into an all-out run. None of them cared for their balance or their landing as they took the last wild steps to leap into a fiery death. Both boy and wolf were doing it in blind faith for the young man who told them to jump. It paid off.

Passing through fire is something none of them would ever do again. Although the layer of moisture on their skin extinguished the flames before it caught their flesh and hair, the steam and lashbacks of it still burned. It was like being submerged in the most intense heat and agony they had ever felt, even though it was just for a moment. All three of them fell through with a shout and Jules and Karnwyr rolled gracelessly into the unforgiving protruding rocks of the stream on the other side. Jules was certain that his eyebrows were on fire but he barely had time to smack his face down in the water before Bishop pulled him up by the scruff of his neck.

"We can't stop!" He grunted as he was hobbling on an injured ankle but still managed to run at a lumbering pace.

Jules gulped back and put all of his pain and need for oxygen on hold as he focused everything he had on getting out of the cave. The entrance was well within their sights, Karnwyr had recovered and was sharing their adrenaline rush as he catapulted along the passage with them and no bandits had dared follow them through the fire; they were making it.

Cold air hit the younger brother's singed face like a miraculous balm as he sidled out of the opening and he smiled in giddy relief. Bishop did the same and laughed breathlessly as he leant over to let his senses gather. He stopped as soon as something very shiny caught his eyes. He slowly looked up and found that several very shiny somethings were glinting at them in the moonlight.

Karnwyr growled and bared his fangs. Jules and Bishop's eyes had been overexposed by the glare of the flames, but once they adjusted to the dim light they found that they had only jumped from the frying pan and into the fire.

The leaders and reinforcements of all the rival bandits raiding the cave were staring at them. They had been comparing swords, bickering and almost brawling, exchanging orders and one of them was eating a skeever. Now they all stared at the soot-covered, soaking, bleeding and charred boys with complete bewilderment.

"I was expecting Sam to run out first. That doesn't look like fucking Sam." Said the Redguard who had almost started a brawl with the Orc bandit chief.

"I don't know, Diorn, looks like a backstabber to me." An Imperial woman spoke with disgust and looked more savage than all of them as she twirled jagged dual swords at her sides.

"Sam's dead." Bishop cut them all off, unsettled with how he was being focused on. "You won, congratulations. Now, if you can find it in your hearts to let me and my brother past we'll-"

The Orc stopped him. "Are there any more of you or did we just make peace to have some mangy pups slip past all of our men?"

When a new man came up behind Bishop, Jules, and Karnwyr, the bandit chiefs didn't undermine their own leadership by showing respect, but they all fell silent.

"Down, Barvak, they're going to be useful to us." The voice was refined and clipped in tone but had developed the lazy informal speech common among bandits. The boys looked behind them to see a well-built Imperial in the teal and beige robes of a college mage, accompanied by iron boots and gauntlets. His hair was long and grey but his face still seemed to have some youth in it. That is, under all the grizzle of dirt, blood not his own, scars that extended from the corners of his mouth to the lobes of his ears, short beard, and ash.

Karnwyr slinked around Jules's legs to make him step back with Bishop and he protectively growled at the newcomer from in-between their feet.

"I saw him take down Mark and he got out alive, that's enough for me to take notice." He made a point to his comrades by giving the three young ones in front of him his full attention. "The name's Lukil. What's yours?"

"Bishop." There was nothing in his voice that suggested any further elaboration. Lukil raised his eyebrow when Bishop had the nerve to cross his arms when he looked inquiringly at his brother.

"Just... bee-shop? You Nords, always so uninspiring." Sighed the Khajiit bandit Lukil had stopped beside. Everything in the bandit chief's manner suggested that he was intrigued by Bishop's lack of mentioning a surname or title, but he said nothing.

Bishop spoke up to make sure he didn't. "How did you get out of there then?"

"Nords," Lukil tutted and rapped his skull pointedly, "you really don't have much up there. My own fire doesn't hurt me." Lukil conjured a fireball that he stuck his hand in with no reaction, then he threw it over his shoulder into the face of a Lost Knife bandit who was trying to sneak out. The bandit died screaming.

"Though, that was quite a jump." Lukil snorted and eyed the blackened dirt on them. "Lost Knife's been purged - it's ours now."

"What's going to happen to it?"

"We'll fortify it, scrub Sammy out of it. But we now have a tower we have use for but all of us already have bases. And here's a capable little bandit who can make it past flames and all of our men."

Jules's confusion had reached the point where he'd had enough of his and Bishop's posturing. "You're going to let us go and give us a home, for nothing?" He asked, bypassing Karnwyr and his brother's protection entirely.

"No, little man." Lukil smirked and turned his back on them to pace slowly. He span on his heel with a cunning edge to his smile to deliver his next ploy. "Jules, wasn't it? Yeah, I got quite familiar with that name on all of the little notes Sam sent me with his payments. You're good with the numbers but, eh, I still saw what you did. You owe me money."

Karnwyr snarled a mere beat after Bishop's hand shot down to his hilt. Lukil rolled his eyes.

"So I have a tower that I personally don't give a shit about and no one to man it. But on the other hand I have enemies trying to get a foothold in my territory and that watchtower sees an awful lot. And here are two seasoned bandits who have every motive to be loyal to me. I'm giving you work and not killing you. What do you say?"

"I'm gonna take a wild guess and say that 'no' is the one that gets us killed."

The bandit chief shrugged. "You can take your chances. There'd be forty arrows on your backs."

Bishop looked behind the rogue mage at all the other bandit chiefs who were impatiently waiting for the conversation to end, some contemplating ending it prematurely with their weapons. Barvak the Orc grinned at him and made sure not to obstruct Bishop's view of the dozen Orc warriors that had just reported to him.

"We'll take the tower." Bishop smiled thinly at Lukil and tried to communicate his resentment of the thinly veiled threat through a squinting glare.

"Good gods, a Nord has made a wise decision? You must be the first in your family to do so." Lukil sneered. He'd turned away to begin ordering everyone into Lost Knife before the brothers could tell if he'd meant anything by it. "Get up to Nilheim, bandage your wounds, I'll be sending you some men in the next few days."

The brothers were already fading back into the darkness of the thick forest before he'd finished and it took him a moment to spot the source of Bishop's irksome voice as they sought the path up the mountain.

"And then begins our new life as housekeepers. Got it."

"Take it as a compliment, Bishop. You're valuable." Lukil shouted at their backs as his bandits got too busy around him to see where they'd gone.

He didn't get a reply.

* * *

Jules started conversation once they were halfway up and out of earshot. He'd noticed that Bishop had been avoiding all of the paths that would have led them back to Falkreath.

"So I guess we can go back the forests now, just like you wanted." His words were laden with hints and said slowly so their point couldn't be missed.

It wasn't but instead of being rueful about it, an element of pride and even hope was making its way into Bishop's expression. Jules wasn't showing any signs of his illness, despite all they'd just been through. He snapped away from the soppy emotions going through him and burst forwards up the steep path.

"Nah, you never wanted that." He said, his tone light and indifferent. "Besides, the Rift has a great forest! You haven't seen it yet. Come on, we've got a tower to babysit."

Bishop's unusual consideration was met with the surprise of Jules's raised brow. However, he was wise enough to not question it and his attention was drawn to the dirty russet canine trotting next to him.

"With the wolf?"

Bishop glanced back in surprise. That Karnwyr would still be sticking by them after they'd made it out hadn't occurred to him. "I don't see him stopping following us so yeah, with 'the wolf'."

"What's his name then?" Jules asked, falling short of sticking his tongue out at Bishop's mocking quoting.

"Uh, Karnwyr."

The wolf cub perked up at the syllables of his name and a brief breeze showed that the soft fur of a youngling still grew on his neck, despite most of his fur being matted by dirt or water.

"Wow, Bishop, a proper name?" Jules grinned and pulled himself up the next rock shelf instead of going around in order to catch up. Karnwyr followed him with ease. "I'm impressed. Always thought you'd be the sort of person to name your first child after yourself because you couldn't remember anything else."

Bishop gave him his most dry and unimpressed look of the day."The witch chose it."

"Ah, still a chance for poor Bishop Jr then." Jules grinned but the banter faded from his mind as he saw the first golden leaves of the Rift. They strained to make it up the last part of the incline in a sudden enthusiastic rush and the younger brother stopped dead in his tracks. A stream rippled endlessly into an incomparably high waterfall and there wasn't a green tree in sight - it was all red, amber, gold, and white. Bishop pushed him onwards with a chuckle and they made their way around the last hill to Lake Geir.

The body of water was entirely clear other than an island in the centre. To the South were the faint lights of Ivarstead, a small village i.e. a source of ale, and to the North the lake fell into two waterfalls below a breathtaking view of everything in Skyrim this side of the Throat of the World. Between those waterfalls was a body of land and on that, a tower.

Jules beamed. They had a home. His smile was as bright as the moons reflecting on the lake. At least, until he realised that Bishop had brought them to the wrong side of the lake. They'd either have to swim across to get to it, or walk all around the Rift.

Bishop nudged him before he could gather his senses. "Swimming lesson number two, eh?" An evil grin flashed across Jules's line of sight before Bishop and Karnwyr dove into the lake so raucously that two waves of water splashed all over Jules, leaving him no choice but to follow them or make his way around the lake in the cold night while utterly drenched.

"How about tomorrow you get a flying lesson off those rocks!" Jules spluttered as he waded into the freezing water.

The howls of Bishop's laughter and Karnwyr's enthusiasm were indecipherable.

A smell of something bad being burnt was Jules's wake-up call in the morning. The floor he slept on only had half of a roof so the weak warmth of the sun was pleasant. He wore vaguely fresh clothes, taken from some drawers in the tower, and lay on a bedroll that wasn't ridden with the damp of a cave. It could have been enjoyable if the foul and musty smoke wasn't making him retch.

"What in Oblivion are you doing out here?!" He demanded in disgust as he went out onto the tower's outer walkway and was greeted with the wind blowing a thick black plume of smoke into his face. He could just make out Bishop's form at the source of the fire down in the small camp.

"Burning everything we changed out of last night." Bishop said as he threw his old sack-like tunic onto the fire with relish. "We don't need to be recognised by anyone again, we have new ones. And Karnwyr doesn't like the smell."

"Nobody should." Jules coughed.

He jumped down and had to put his his forearm over his mouth as he moved upwind with Bishop to a table overlooking the camp and the lake. Karnwyr was pitifully curled up in a crevice between the ancient stone walkway Jules went past, safe from the smoke and whimpering as if to wonder why his new friends could do this to his poor nose. Jules snorted, bent down to give him an idle scratch and swiftly commandeered the only chair before Bishop could so much as look at it.

"So, no gold and only one set of clothes. I guess we're going to become seamstresses now?" Jules chuckled and bit into half of a bread loaf that was lying around.

Bishop snorted. "No one could pay me enough to make a dress." He came over and plucked the bread from Jules's hands to eat it himself, but said nothing more. No denial of what Jules had said about their money situation, no matter how long the younger brother waited.

"Why didn't you tell me that Mark was taking all of our gold?"

Bishop's chewing slowed to a halt. The gulp that followed was both because of eating and the subject that had been brought up. "Shit, you really do find out everything." With a sigh he moved to look over the lake and away from Jules. "You were unconscious most of the time and we needed to stay there. Now, he's dead and it worked, right? You haven't broken a sweat since we left!"

Jules just shrugged. His own well-being wasn't a priority as he was itching to break his own news. With a splitting grin he pulled up what was weighing down his right hand and dumped a worn half-filled sack of gold on the table. "Well, I got a lot of it back."

"You're kidding me!" Bishop spluttered out and dived over to the table.

Jules smiled proudly at his shocked expression. "It isn't everything of course but you'd be surprised at how bad his own locks are. I left him a surprise in the drop-off chest too, it's a shame he'll never get it now."

"Don't worry, he got a surprise." His brother said grimly as he briefly unstrung the pouch and counted the coin. "This'll keep us going for a while. We're coming out on top this time, whatever we do. That mage can go screw himself if he thinks he's going to be another Sam."

"If you'd have told me, we could have got it all back." Jules pointed out before the subject could change. "From now on, you tell me everything and I tell you everything. Deal?"

Bishop looked at the boy who had more brains than all of his siblings put together. Who still had the positive naivete of a child who could still smile without bitterness. Who was dying just because he existed and he could never tell him, as it would kill every hope they had. It was with a nondescript shrug and a careless smile that he delivered the biggest lie he'd ever tell.

"Sure."


End file.
